The Mind of a Prince
by RuthanneReid
Summary: Bulma and Vejiita; a combo that makes anyone's jaw drop the first time they come across it. So how did that happen anyway? I offer this as an IC attempt at an explanation - through the eyes of a most unlikely observer.
1. The Mind of a Prince: I

**-The Mind of a Prince-**

It had never occurred to anyone to wonder how it was that Dende didn't know about love. Well, that should be clarified - how it was that Dende did not know about _romantic_ love. After all, there was a pretty big difference.

Regular love could be shared by anybody; strangers brought together on the battlefield, fellow artists supporting a little-known cause, children working together to build a truly fantastic sand castle and who, to that end, are willing to share their toys. Love happened all over the place and for the silliest reasons, and Dende certainly had a good handle on most of it.

Nameks, however, did not share romantic love, and for that reason, it puzzled him. It made him wonder why people like Android 18 stayed with and gave children to Kuririn, why folks like Chi Chi put up with Gokuu's aggravating habit of running off and forgetting he was a husband, or why Vejiita and Bulma remained together at all. Unfortunately, Dende's normal sources were of no help; Piccolo knew no more about this "love" thing than he did.

"I don't get it," Piccolo said plainly to him one day, watching Gohan and Videl do what they thought was a little out-of-the-way kissing as they let Pan run around kami's tower. "Neither did the old Kami. When we fused, it was one of the things on which our knowledge and experience coincided; humans have something they classify as 'romantic love,' and it apparently makes them mindless." Then Piccolo abruptly broke off the conversation because he thought Pan had gotten too close to the edge, and he had to go fetch her. She hadn't, of course; but he wasn't taking any chances. 

Dende had sighed and resigned himself to further study. If the Kami of the previous generation had failed to understand this "love," then what hope did he have? Well; perhaps there were other ways to find out. 

Three hours later, he was in the process of stumbling dazedly out of the Pendulum room when Mr. Popo found him.

* * *

Dende's experiment had certainly been a dangerous one, but that was due more to his choice of subjects than actual problems in the Room itself. Dende, in his unassuming search for the meaning of love and romance, had simply picked what seemed to him to be the most extreme example of "love" available, never thinking that the people he had chosen might prove to be more dangerous than the events which led them together.

The result had been overwhelming.

"But what HAPPENED, sir?" Mr. Popo asked again, breathless with concern as he propped Dende up and pressed a glass of water to his lips.

"I..." Dende shook his head. That was about all he'd been able to say up for the last few moments, his system obviously in shock. Now, however, he finally found he could say something else. "It's the most AMAZING story!" he abruptly shouted, turning to Popo with eyes huge from excitement and antennae stiff as fishing poles. "I think I get it now! I DO! Love has to do with... with... WOW!"

Mr. Popo stared blankly. "...sir?"

"I mean..." Dende shook his head. "Okay. I don't know if I can explain the whole thing to you - you really had to be there, I think - but... but I'm going to TRY. Assuming you don't mind, of course," he added quickly, finally vaguely aware that his behavior was somewhat incoherent and worried, as always, that he would look silly after the previous Kamis Popo had served.

"That will be fine, Mr. Dende, sir," Popo said, helping the young kami to stand up. "But let's do it someplace else, all right? I want you to at least be sitting down."

"All right," said Dende, unable to contain his excitement as they walked. And as they did, before they even reached the sitting room Popo had in mind, Dende began to talk, explaining the progress of a most bizarre and poweful love story. 

That of Bulma Briefs and Vejiita ouji, prince of the Saiya-jin.

* * *


	2. The Mind of a Prince: II

Mind of a Prince - II 

It all started with the dragon. Not that this had been his GOAL, mind you (Dende explained), but the wish had been worded in such a way that Porunga had no choice but to do what he did, and that, in a nutshell, is how the whole thing started.

* * *

There was pain, and then there was silence. Later, the dead man was sure that something must have happened here - after all, when he died again, he remembered the whole thing - but whatever that something was, it never came back to him. All he could ever recall was the feel of oily blackness; cold, thick, soundless dark, which swallowed even his echoes and cemented frozen droplets of sweat to his skin - and the total and despairing feeling of being utterly, completely, alone.

Then darkness coalesced into ordinary dirt, and some frantic part of his mind registered that he had been buried alive.

Vejiita Saiyajin no Ouji, prince of all the Saiyans there were, suddenly burst from the ground like a mole with its tail on fire, desperately gasping for air and trying to roar with frustration at the same time - which didn't work very well, but he was beyond caring. 

The first coherent thing that entered Vejiita's head was that he was going to find the son of a bitch who'd made the heart so fragile as to disintegrate with one blast from a finger-beam and gut him. His second thought - somewhat tempered because the first was very satisfying - was that he needed to figure out just where he was and whether or not Freeza was still nearby. Still gasping (and with a new respect for finger-beams), he looked around. 

Well, this sure as hell wasn't Namek.

Anything that could have indicated he was in the same place as he was when he'd died was gone. Entire hillsides were blown away, the ground was burnt a different color, the sky was black, and there was absolutely no sign of those annoying little cotton-swabs the native inhabitants called trees. Something like lightning flashed in the sky; lava fountains spurted at random, filling the air around him with poisonous gasses and and brilliant tint. Nothing living or moved or grew as far as Vejiita could see - except for himself.

Okay. So maybe he was still dead and this, sure as Namek, was Hell. Well, if it was, then whatever fools were in charge of this place had made a mistake; they should have tied him down. Scowling at reality and the weird fate that had brought him here, Vejiita struggled to his feet and looked for Freeza, determined to at least get some measure of revenge before he was killed again. 

And abruptly, everything changed.

* * *

"Changed, sir?" asked Mr. Popo for clarification as he refilled Dende's water glass, doing his best to understand Dende's account of Vejiita's resurrection from Vejiita's point of view in Dende's own words.

Mildly confusing.

"Well, from his point of view, it did," Dende said, accepting the water gratefully. "You see, Gokuu had had me wish that everyone killed by Freeza would be brought back to life and THEN brought to earth - remember? So, basically, they were all resurrected and then... blipped."

"...'blipped,' sir?" Mr. Popo asked in grave doubt, arching one eyebrow.

Dende blushed a slightly deeper shade of green. "Well. Transported, I guess, is a better word, but 'blipped' really works well as a sound effect, don't you think?" Mr. Popo looked at him blankly, so Dende cleared his throat and continued. 

"Everything down there was fine, at first; we all found ourselves alive and well, and of course most of us were too happy to see each other to notice that anything was wrong. We hadn't realized who was missing; and more importantly, we hadn't noticed who was there in their place..."

* * *

"Where is Turo's village? Why aren't they here?" Muuri asked suddenly, and the joyful celebration around him grew dim. One by one, each Namek realized someone they knew was missing - and every one of those someones was from Turo's village. 

A more perfect time to speak up had never been presented.

"I killed them," Vejiita remarked lightly, and waited for response.

There wasn't much of one. Genderless beings of all shapes and sizes stared blankly back at him, as though unwilling or unable to accept what he had said. 

Vejiita smirked. And to think, Nameks were supposed to be intelligent... "I said, _I_ killed them. You had asked Shenlon to bring back those killed by Freeza and his group - but I wasn't with them. Too bad," he elaborated condescendingly, as one would to a small child who was not entirely capable of comprehending the situation. 

Oh, now this reaction was much better; shock, sorrow, and hatred colored the faces of his audience, and yet it seemed that none of them had the courage to do anything other than stare. 

Vejiita felt mildly vindicated; he was beginning to regret what had passed between himself and Kakarotto, and this was making him feel a little bit better; abject terror was a wonderful morale booster. 

Then suddenly, seven large, white objects caused a minor distraction by appearing in mid-air and crashing to the ground. Everyone but Vejiita (and Piccolo, but who cared about _him_) jumped. 

"Come, my children," Saichorou gasped - the oldest, fattest slug of them all - and beckoned to the other Nameks. "Come and let me speak with you." 

* * *

Dende paused here. He looked down, brow knit ever so slightly.

"This would be when Saichorou-sama died - yes, Dende-sama?" Mr. Popo prompted gently, aware that this event pained Dende - who was the last Namek Saichorou had created - even now, years after it had occurred.

"...yes." Dende simply said, and skipped forward in the story.

* * *

Vejiita had remained silent after his last comment; everyone was too busy weeping over the dead Saichorou, and he himself was too busy processing things to push any further buttons. At least, for now.

So; different types of dragonballs. Different powers. All of this was good information, and Vejiita held onto it. One never knew when such a thing would come in handy, ne?

Besides, it lent itself to good distraction. Vejiita was beginning to pass "regret" and hit "embarassed" in terms of what he'd said to Kakarotto; this was bad for all concerned, because it was putting him in a bad mood. Turning his attention from the wailing Nameks to the other, native inhabitants of earth, he listened in on the conversation between Gohan, Bulma, and Piccolo, which was going on to his right.

They were discussing how to bring Kuririn and Kak - ah, they called him "Gokuu" here - back to life. Apparently, there were complications.

"He was very foolish to exclude himself from the wish and remain on Namek," Piccolo judged in his low, ominous voice, and Vejiita was unsure if he agreed or not. On the one hand, Kakarotto had a chance; a real, genuine chance of defeating Freeza - assuming he could make any headway before the planet blew. On the other, if he failed and Freeza won, the lizard-king would make full speed for earth, much angier than he'd been if Kakarotto hadn't stuck around to fight him. Of course, he'd have been heading here even if Kakarotto HAD been transported, so it didn't really matter. Unless Kakarotto killed him, he'd be coming here either way - and that spelled doom for this third-rate mudball. It was kind of a toss-up.

"You're wrong, Piccolo - dad will win!" Gohan insisted brightly, apparently unaffected by Piccolo's dangerous baritone. "I saw it! He became... a SUPER SAIYAN!" 

And the only one there who reacted to that with true understanding was Vejiita. 

"Wh... what?" Vejiita said, and everything in his world stood still. 

* * *

The afternoon continued, unconcerned with Vejiita's private struggles. Freeza had lost, and Namek had blown up; and still, Gohan kept talking.

"I saw it! His hair went gold and his eyes went green and EVERYTHING!" Gohan continued, every word irritating like buzzing bees inside Vejiita's consciousness, and he found himself fighting with some difficulty to keep from shouting "IT ISN'T FAIR!"

It WASN'T fair. All his life, Vejiita had worked, strived to become what he was; he knew he had both the genetic and personal traits necessary to become a Super Saiyan. One of his only cherished memories was that of his father, hand on Vejiita's five-year-old shoulder, telling him that he was the Legendary Super Saiyan and that someday he would be the strongest in the universe.

Vejiita had believed him. Even when Freeza had made a laughingstock of his entire species by blowing them up, Vejiita had believed him - he had believed him all of his life. 

Vejiita had held onto that belief, prizing it when all else failed, nourishing it with his pride and trusting in it with a faith that almost bordered on religious. It was something that meant more than even he could truly grasp; and now... someone with no real heritage, someone who hadn't even _known_ what a Saiyan was, someone who had NO FUCKING CLUE what was going on around him, had gotten to the goal first.

THE goal. HIS goal.

Deep, deep inside, Vejiita was beginning to melt down. He countered this by focusing on the conversation beside him and simply decidiing to become a Super Saiyan soon in the near future - followed by a very thorough beating of Kakarotto the Idiot. He had no way to get back at Fate; but he could certainly get back at the one Fate had used. 

Which vengeance, it seemed, was currently in danger because the people responsible for bringing him back had the collective IQ of a slug.

"It would work if their bodies were rebuilt by the kami and they were at Kaio-sama's like Chaozu; but they'll be resurrected on Namek, which means in space, because Namek's going to be gone, and so... they wouldn't survive. There's nothing we can do," Bulma explained to the others, tears making her voice wobbly. Somebody or something had apparently tipped her off that people couldn't live in space.

They all moped, defeated. 

"But... there HAS to be a way!" Gohan cried, crying openly, which disgusted Vejiita because no warrior would ever behave like that in his right mind. True, he'd cried when he was dying, but that was totally different; he hadn't even wept over the death of his own father.

"No," Bulma said, and for the first time since Vejiita had seen her, she was relatively quiet; apparently, she had to be miserable before she toned down the decibel levels. "There's nothing. Kaiou says it's not his territory. We have no way to bring them back."

Oh, for the LOVE of hell... "Are you brainless or what?" he suddenly snapped, breaking into their conversation because he could not stand their stupidity any longer. "Just transfer their souls, thoughts, or whatever here, and THEN bring them back. Right?" It was such a SIMPLE solution... what was WRONG with these people....

The blue-haired woman blinked. She looked at him. She thought about it. She lit up like Dodoria on meth. "You're RIGHT!" she squealed, beaming something dangerously close to gratitude at him, and Vejiita wrinkled his nose in slight distaste. "Why, you're not so bad after ALL!" she said.

Oh, now WAIT a minute...

And Gohan, misunderstanding Vejiita's intention, waltzed right up and held his hand out like a friend at a cocktail party. "Thank you!" he said, expecting Vejiita to reciprocate - or something.

Vejiita smacked his hand away, doubly disgusted that Gohan looked shocked. "Don't misunderstand me, fool," Vejiita began, when fortunately for Gohan, they were interrupted by the new Namekian leader.

"Excuse me," Murri said politely, eyes still swollen from all the crying he'd done, and everybody looked at him.

* * *

Mr. Popo was finding this more interesting as time went on; he hadn't realized that Vejiita's inner dialogue was quite so articulate. Obssessed and confrontational, certainly - not to mention one-sided, arrogant, and biased - but definitely intelligent. Perhaps he'd unconsciously assumed Gokuu's unusual idiot-savant mentality extended even to the "high-class" members of his race. Which would make no sense, he reflected; Vejiita had actually been bred to be what he was, a first-class Saiya-jin of the finest composition, whose tail was even impervious to pain.

Unaware of personal revelations on the part of his friend and servant, Dende sipped some more water and continued.

* * *

"Excuse me," Murri said politely, eyes still swollen from all the crying he'd done, and everybody looked at him.

"Yes?" Bulma answered, still bimbo-bubbly and apparently not aware that Vejiita was about two steps away from killing them all.

"We'll find a new planet to live on once our dragonballs work again, but in the meantime... would you know of a place where we can stay?" Murri asked, absolutely polite.

"Ooooh, yes!" she shouted with even more enthusiasm, bouncing on her toes. Gods, she was irritating... "Come live with us! We have lots of room! Plus, we want to use your dragonballs as well. There'll be a panic if you just parade around!" 

Then, unexpectedly, she'd turned to him, absolutely no fear whatever in her eyes. "What about you?" she said. "You wanna come too? You don't have money for a hotel anyways." And, beatifically, she smiled.

Vejiita made a non-committal noise, mostly because he was too disgusted to do anything else.

"We'll feed you well!" she promised blithely, going on. "I guess you're a big eater like Gokuu. Oh, but there is one condition: you can't jump all over me even if you find me seductive."

Vejiita gaped at her in disbelief. "What a mouth.... Low class woman!" he snapped back at her, but she didn't take offense. Instead, she promptly began making calls for a large transportation vehicle, bound and determined to take everyone - deadly or not - home for the nonce. 

Okay. So she wasn't just irritating. She was insane. It was an affliction Vejiita began to believe most earthlings possessed, but for the sake of meeting Kakarotto again, he decided to put up with it. After all, she was one of Kakarotto's friends; she had the dragonballs. Logically, Kakarotto would show up here before he did anywhere else.

Besides - if Kakarotto were anything like the rest of these freaks, he'd probably assume that Vejiita himself was somehow trustworthy and nice, to boot. Which meant he could take said Kakarotto by surprise.

There was a silver lining on every cloud....

And so, affecting boredom, Vejiita submitted to being cargo and went home to the Capsule Corporation along with Bulma, Gohan, and so many Nameks that the color green seemed permanently burned into his retinas. 

* * *

Dende had to stop telling at this point because Mr. Popo was laughing his head off. 

"She... she... can't jump all OVER her... BWAHAHA!"

Dende looked puzzled. He didn't entirely understand the intricacies of love and lust and the like, so the request had seemed perfectly reasonable to him. "Well... that's what she SAID..."

Mr. Popo doubled over, barely able to breathe for laughing so hard. 

"...what was WRONG with what she said?" Dende asked, now sounding slightly offended.

"Oh... ah... um..." Mr. Popo stammered not really clear on how to explain sexual propriety to a Namek. "Just... just keep going, Dende, sir... I'm listening." But he kept sniggering. Bulma, in his opinion, had more brass in her than most men. Perhaps that was why the relationship had worked...

"Um... okay," said Dende, and continued. 


	3. The Mind of a Prince: III

Mind of a Prince - III 

For everybody else, the 130 days necessary to recharge Namek's dragonballs passed like a dream. Using friendliness Gokuu had taught them long ago, the inhabitants and associates of the Capsule Corporation welcomed the Nameks with open arms and warm hearts, and together they began the post-Freeza healing process. Golf was learned, Poker was played, and the dinosaurs that had been caught up in the Namekian transport found themselves perfectly at home in the Capsule Corporation's capacious greenhouse. Even Captain Ginyu found his place as leader of the duck pond.

And apart from them all and not bothering to heal one bit, Vejiita trained and lived alone, waiting for the day of Kakarotto's return.

* * *

Vejiita's purpose in life had been considerably narrowed since the defeat of Freeza and the ascent of Kakarotto to Super Saiyan. Before, yes, it was true that his purposes had been limited; he'd had the goal of conquering, of becoming Stronger, of upholding and maintaining the power and pride of being Saiya-jin. Of evenutally growing powerful enough to give to Freeza the humiliation that the lizard king had given to him.

Now, that had all been subtly altered.

He still wanted to be the most powerful. He was still concerned with upholding his pride and the glory of the Saiya-jin race. He still wished he could take horrific, bloodied revenge on Freeza.

But now, his revenge was gone; another had taken it. His right to glory as Super Saiyajin had also been given to someone else - stolen, in fact, by one who not only did not deserve the privilege, but adding insult to injury, did not even know _what_ a Saiyan really was. Vejiita had lost his position as the strongest Saiya-jin in existence to a halfwit; lost his chance to get at Freeza thanks to that same man; lost his earned glory and pride due to the combined efforts of a fool and Freeza the lizard king.

As far as he was concerned, life at this moment had narrowed to one, focalized point: grow strong enough to defeat Kakarotto and take his pride back. Of course, that would involve becoming Super Saiyan himself. Lacking the benefit of the years of training Gokuu had received, of the extended and specialized instruction from gods and aliens alike, Vejiita was forced to rely on the training he'd had before, combining it with extra strength training to try to catch up. He never even considered that he might not make his goal; single minded, he trudged on at all hours, training, eating, sleeping - and doing little else. For seven days, those three things comprised his entire life.

And then, came Bulma.

* * *

At nine o'clock in the morning, on the eighth day of his self-imposed schedule, Vejiita walked into the kitchen and was forced from that moment on to regard Bulma as part of the program.

Bulma was in the kitchen, still in her bathrobe and curlers - and she was also in the way.

"Move," he ordered, and of course expected her to do so.

Bulma turned around - removing the toothbrush she'd had sticking out of one side of her mouth before speaking - and gave him a sleepy morning-glazed glare. "No," she replied.

His eyes widened in shock. "You... I SAID -"

Before this could turn into an actual argument, Gohan and a gaggle of Nameks suddenly trouped into the kitchen, talking merrily about some sport or other and completely unaware of the high tensions of its occupants. Unwilling to deal with the overwhelming sociability of the situation, Vejiita gave Bulma a warning scowl and then left.

Bulma stood where she was, chewing her toothbrush meditatively; then she shrugged and went back to rummaging in the refrigerator. Nothing else came of this for another two weeks.

* * *

"And that was important, Dende, sir?" Mr. Popo asked, looking slightly puzzled. It seemed to him that most encounters with Vejiita were variations on this little story.

"Well, it was to him," Dende explained, leaning forward and almost breathless with the excitement of learning something new. "You see, with the exception of the few beings who were actually stronger than he was, no one had ever dared blow off Vejiita before. Nobody. And he knew SHE knew he was stronger than she was, and he also knew that she was smart enough to know just how dangerous. Basically, it surprised him that she'd dare do something so stupid. See," he went on, shifting in his seat. "By doing this, she lodged herself in his mind; he could never stand insubordination, anyway, not from anybody - and so from that moment on, Bulma gained a permanent place in his head as Something To Humiliate."

"Humiliate?" repeated Mr. Popo, beginning to wonder if Dende had picked the best subjects for his experiment. 

"Yes," Dende said. "And it really started to work that way...."

* * *

Two weeks later, Vejiita saw Bulma again - specifically because he'd lain in wait for her for much of the night. He was not doing this because he was lonely; "lonely" was not a part of his makeup. To put it simply, he was doing this because he was bored. 

Vejiita had grown tired of working without a direct challenge, and her disrespect to him had at least offered some light distraction. She had, for some reason, stuck in his mind and he couldn't get her out. Well, better just to deal with it and be done, he reasoned. So, sipping a large glass of water, he waited for her at the kitchenette table, knowing from observation that sometime around 3am she'd come downstairs for a snack.

He was right.

Bulma, wearing her bathrobe again but this time _sans_ curlers, stumbled into the kitchen and blinked to find him there.

"Vejiita?" she asked as if she doubted her senses, and Vejiita was just confident enough to misinterpret her surprise as fear.

"Correct," he rumbled, and waited to see what she would do. The circumstance was perfect; Vejiita himself sat wreathed in shadow, just far enough away from the crackling fireplace to enhance his unspoken threat. Firelight danced over his skin; his eyes seem to glow with ire - and she, poor human female, was all alone. He knew it was childish, but for some reason, he just wanted to spook her a little - maybe remind her of her place. It was certainly a harmless enough activity.

She stared. 

Vejiita did not know it - could not - but the thoughts that ran through Bulma's mind at the moment were not comprised of fear or pain or torture; rather, they were comprised of desire - one so strong it almost hurt.

She'd never seen such a beautiful man in her life.

"Wha... th... zuh...." she said, and Vejiita raised his eyebrows. 

"That's all? I was under the impression you were smarter than that, Woman," he mocked her lightly, leaning back in his seat and enjoying what he took to be her discomfort. 

Her mouth wagged for one moment more, and then she ceased to act in a way that Vejiita understood. "Hot DAMN," she abruptly exclaimed to - apparently - nobody, and then walked past him very rapidly to the sink. A second later, she had cold water running and was busily splashing herself in the face.

He watched this insane behavior for a moment before speaking again. "Woman, what in hell are you doing?" he snapped, forgoing mystique for the sake of berating. "The shower is upstairs; I do not care to see you naked. Go bathe someplace else where no one has to look at you."

For some reason, his words snapped her out of her hormone-induced trance; for likely the same reason, they put her in a bad mood.

"Why the hell do YOU care where I bathe, Vejiita?" she said far too loudly, spinning to face him and leaving the faucet running. "This is MY house, and this is MY water, and MY rules, and if I feel like prancing around the entire COMPLEX NAKED I KAMI-DAMNED WI-"

Her last word was cut off for the simple reason that his hand was around her throat.

She hadn't seen him move; just... suddenly, he wasn't seated anymore and instead was in front of her, eyes glittering in the moonlight like onyx and with his fingers oh-so-casually resting on her neck.

He wasn't crushing, however, which gave her hope. On the other hand, it also severely ticked her off.

"Let GO of me, you CREEP!" she shouted, smacking at his hand - and nearly breaking her own in the process. "Ow! OW! DAMN it!" she swore, shaking her hand out and bending over it - and that's when she realized that he had let go and was laughing at her.

Oh, heck yes, he was laughing. As if it were one of the funniest things he'd ever seen in his life.

"Why don't you try head-butting me next time?" he taunted, still sneering. "Your face could use the improvement."

"OOH!" Forgetting all about her hand, Bulma grabbed the nearest pot and flung it at him; he sidestepped, smirking like all hell as it clanged noisily to the floor.

"That the best you can do? Bah. Freeza wouldn't have even bothered taking any of you for slaves... you're not even pleasant-looking enough to bother," he added as an after-thought, testing a new hypothesis.

Bulma gaped. "You... you... SON OF A SAPSUCKING FROG!" she screeched, grabbed another frying pan, and came at him again.

Laughing, he avoided her - and then flew right out the door.

"OOOH!!" she screeched, wiping furious tears from her face as she threw the pan after him. "That.... BASTARD! AHONDARA! BAKAYAROU!" she shouted, pulling up every disgusting name she could think of and hurling it out the door after him. It was a good two hours before she could calm herself down enough to go back to bed and get some sleep. 

Meanwhile, Vejiita flew far enough away that he could not even see the lights of the Capsule Corporation; and once that was done, he doubled over and laughed himself sick. Oh, that had been WONDERFUL; much better than he'd planned. He could not count on the woman for something as mundane as physical training, that was certain - but he definitely could for amusement in between training bouts. And her vanity, it seemed, was a sore point; heh. Vejiita had been taught well in the art of psychological warfare; when button was found, push, push, push.

Relishing the slight rush he received from this, the first and only challenge he'd had in days, Vejiita settled into a comfortable sleep. All was right with the world.


	4. The Mind of a Prince: IV

Mind of a Prince - IV 

It was fairly obvious to Dende that Vejiita was highly amused with himself. This, of course, was rarely in question; but it still made a decent conversation piece, and he intended to use it as a conversation segue. Dende paused, smiling at Mr. Popo, confident in the fact that since Mr. Popo had a gender, all of this would make perfect sense to him.

"Questions?" he said, just to be sure.

Mr. Popo, on the other hand, looked as though he were beginning to get a headache. "No, sir," he said, rounded shoulders slumped. "Go on. I'm with you." _And thinking I should get Bulma a better insurance policy,_ he thought to himself privately, but didn't say it aloud. 

"All right," Dende agreed amiably, his normally keen observational powers clearly not up to snuff quite yet since his experience in the Room. Settling back and feeling comfortable for the first time in at least an hour, he continued.

* * *

From that point on, Vejiita's taunting was constant. Every time he was near her - which was far more often than it used to be - he would smirk, sneer, cross his arms, and make some comment or other on her hideous appearance. After a while, he figured out that remarks on her intellect bothered her as well, so he threw those in for a little variation.

By the second week after their encounter in the kitchen, Bulma had had enough. And when Bulma had had enough, it meant that Bulma was going to fight back. 

She fought dirty.

It was fairly simple; she began by making sure that none of Vejiita's seemingly favorite foods were in the kitchen. She'd noticed his tendency toward meats, especially lamb and beef, and his apparent love of ice cream. So, although it hurt her to do it, all three of those items disappeared from the kitchen and were not to be restocked. 

Any annoyance she herself felt at the lack of ice cream - especially coconut macadamia - was offset by the change in attitude from Vejiita. He became _grouchy._

A few days into this new vegetarian diet, he began routing through the cabinets and pantry looking for something more substantial than the rice and greens that were now the Briefs staple meals. Of course, he didn't find anything; and once the ramen noodles were gone (at least those things had some FLAVOR, damnit), his attitude grew even worse. He took to scowling at mealtimes, pouting his way through the kitchen and training far harder than he ought. As far as Bulma was concerned, this was all very satisfying.

The second thing she did was just about as low a blow as she could come up with: she began talking about Gokuu.

Anytime he was around, she waxed eloquent on Gokuu's features - his strength, his speed, his agility - and simply would not stop until he went away. If he tried to insult her, she responded by directly comparing Vejiita to Gokuu - usually making at least one reference to height and quite a few more to superiority. 

There was a basic pattern to it; he would attack her appearance, she would mention some demon or other that Gokuu had effortlessly killed, and then they would glare. A few more rounds of that, and one of them would be somehow declared the victor and smirk while the other muttered and glared at something else for a little while. 

It grew to the point where their verbal dueling was terribly obvious to anyone in the room, and the tension was absolutely palpable. In fact, it became so obvious that even Yamucha noticed.

"You know," he said blithely one evening as he watched Bulma scowl and grouse around the room because she'd theoretically lost some verbal battle, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were enjoying this."

"Enjoying what?" she snapped at him, picking up random objects and putting them back down again as she searched for something to help cool her off. 

"This weird... war you have going on with Vejiita," Yamucha said. He was sprawled in front of the fireplace, wearing what he considered to be "sexy" clothing (and she considered to be cheap-ass disco playboy, but that's another story), and obviously trying for a romantic evening. Just his luck that Vejiita would have gotten her all worked up first....

Bulma sighed and turned to face him. "WHAT war, Yamucha?" She looked impatient. "There IS no war. He's on our side now, rememberr? At least until we can bring Gokuu back, and that's about 70 days from now. What are you talking about?"

Yamucha shrugged in carefree ex-bandit style. "I dunno. Wanna play?" he said, grinning, trying to change the subject to more amorous matters. 

Bulma sighed. "You really think we're at war?" she said, running one hand through her hair - which, for some unknown reason, she was currently keeping in a wildly permed ball around her head. "I don't want it to be a WAR."

Yamucha snorted. "Bullshit. You love wars."

She eyed him.

"You DO," he insisted, sitting up and letting his half-unbuttoned shirt gape open. "You always love wars. You love to argue, you love to disagree, you love to have snappy comebacks and win and then lose and then have to win again - you've ALWAYS been that way, and it seems like Vejiita's giving you just what you - "

"Yamucha," she interrupted, looking at his chest with slightly narrowed, speculative eyes and using a tone he knew meant trouble. "What's that on your chest?"

Yamucha paused. He'd been intending to give her a warning regarding her new plaything, to try to remind her that Vejiita was DANGEROUS, was not trustworthy, was still - in his heart - the enemy - but now he looked down, and all thoughts of Vejiita fled from his mind. "What's what on my - ACK!" He gasped and jerked his shirt closed with both hands, using such exuberance that it tore under one arm. "I... uh... I..."

Bulma's eyes had narrowed further; menacingly, she picked up the poker beside the fireplace and advanced toward him. "You have LIPSTICK... on your PECS?!?"

Now, Yamucha didn't really need to fear a woman with a poker; she had no ki, and physically, while stronger than average, she was hardly on his level of power. However, Bulma's skills of communication were almost unrivaled when she was angry, and the look in her eyes now left no room for bravado. Her irises seemed filled with blue fire.

"Um," he said, sliding toward the edge of the leather sofa. "It... it's not mine."

"I KNOW that!" Bulma shrieked. "How COULD you! We've TALKED about this!"

Yamucha seemed to be gauging the distance to the door. "Um... yeah, I know, but it didn't mean anything, she just ran at me after today's game and planted a couple of kisses before I could stop her and then I left, I swear, I had nothing to - oh, shit!" 

Bulma ran at him; Yamucha ran at the door. He zipped out into the night, evening ruined, covering the back of his head with his hands lest she decide to throw the poker after him.

"You bastard! You cheating... son of a..." 

He was gone.

Bulma looked after him for a moment, not even breathing heavily; and then she dropped the poker to the ground, where it hit with a clang and lay still.

"...why," she said, so very quietly; there was no answer. "Why do you always do this to me?" Her voice caught, not quite a choke; betrayed, she leaned against the doorframe, arms hanging limply at her sides and her expression filled with defeat. "...I love you... I KNOW you love me... why do you do this again and again and..."

"Talking to people who aren't there again, Woman?" challenged Vejiita, stepping out from the hallway. "Pretty soon you'll be insane enough that you won't even notice you're alone. At least then you'll finally be content."

_Oh gods, what a time for this,_ Bulma thought wearily, and looked at him with an attempt at renewed anger in her eyes. "What do you want?" she snapped.

Vejiita didn't hesitate, but he almost did; something about her expression was... _off_, somehow. "Nothing from YOU - obviously you can't provide any man what he wants." 

He'd meant it to cut; it was one of their sparring matches, or so he thought, and he was already trying to work through the responses she'd likely throw back at him in return. Only, she didn't do it.

Something in her eyes crumpled. Bringing her hands up to hide her face from his view, she began to cry. It was voiceless, but her shoulders shook, and almost too quickly, tears escaped her hands and slipped down her arms to drip onto the floor.

This reaction was completely unexpected. Vejiita had faced weeping people before - usually right before he killed them - so tears by themselves had no effect on him at all, except to sometimes make him more cruel. But this...

He took a step back; took another one. And then, for reasons he did not understand, simply turned and flew away - running as much as Yamucha had, berating himself for it and furious because he did not know _why._

Bulma stayed where she was. She cried for a while, suffering the pangs and pruries of a broken heart; then she wiped her tears and put the poker back by the fire. Yes, it was true that she didn't seem capable of holding Yamucha's attention. She never really had been, once he'd realized just how attractive he was - and his current occupation of Baseball Super Star didn't help, either. But she loved him - really - and so, would just... put up with his constant infidelity. She would WIN his heart back, and make it hers forever. That's what she'd to. She....

Somehow, she kept herself from sobbing again; lips set tightly, she put the fire out and went up to her room, alone, determined to go to sleep and invent something absolutely world-shattering in the morning. THAT would show him; would show them all.

She cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Vejiita, meanwhile, flew only a short way before landing and snarling at the ground. What in hell had made him do that? Just... LEAVE when it was so obvious he'd won. He'd never gotten her to that state before, in fact had never SEEN her do that before, and - 

...well. So _that_ was it. 

Vejiita frowned as he realized why her weeping had disturbed him so. Crying was weak; and he knew she was not.

She was physically pathetic as a wet dishrag, yes; but her mind was not weak, and neither was her will, and he realized that for the last several weeks he had been thoroughly enjoying an activity that he had not experienced in many, many years - challenge.

She had a wit tinged with vindictiveness that could keep up with his own, and it was keeping him sane on this planet where no one could present him challenge.

Vejiita pursed his lips, thinking about it; so then - why had she cried? He had not heard the conversation prior to his appearance on the stairs, so her behavior seemed utterly bizarre. She was willful; this made no SENSE...

Maybe she had her peroid? But no, he would have smelled it, and there was no major hormonal change. Well, okay, maybe there was SOME hormonal change - it was obvious from the pheromones in the room that Yamucha had been there attempting to be erotic. It was just as obvious that Bulma had not been, but that was hardly any reason to _cry_....

Now clinically curious, Vejiita lifted into the air and took off in the direction he'd seen Yamucha run, using his newly honed ki sense to track the idiot. Which idiot, by the way, wasn't even bothering to hide his ki signature; apparently, he thought he didn't have to be on his guard when not actually in a battle.

The fool.

Shaking his head at the ease of this hunt, Vejiita tracked Yamucha down to a small house just a few miles from the Capsule Corporation. Narrowing the idiot's presence to a room on the top floor, Vejiita hovered and peeked inside.

Ah.

Well. That would explain why his comment had hit so hard.

Vejiita didn't bother watching; Yamucha's affairs - literal or otherwise - were really his own disgusting business, but Vejiita had learned enough about human culture to know that the idiot wasn't supposed to be in there DOING that. Even if his own mate HAD (apparently) turned him down.

Hell, he should have just forced her; but Vejiita had also learned enough of human culture to know that that wasn't exactly approved behavior. Of course, neither was infidelity; but Yamucha didn't seem to find that as evil a sin. Odd; maybe he thought the one wouldn't hurt Bulma as much?

Possibly; after all, there was no question in Vejiita's mind that the idiot DID care about the woman, although it was a mystery to him how in hell said idiot had gained the woman in the FIRST place. 

That kind of will and wit didn't belong with an idiot like that; and, in Vejiita's own twisted estimation, did not deserve the disrespect of infidelity.

Vejiita came to a decision at that moment. He did not like to see Bulma cry - subconsciously because he knew how he'd felt the one time he'd cried - and it was a stupid, wasteful, wrong - 

... did he say _wrong_? No, that was a mental typo; he disregarded it.

- thing to do. 

And it was absolutely none of his business. 

Mentally shrugging the whole thing off, Vejiita flew back to the Capsule Corporation and landed on the roof - a place where he liked to sleep - and relaxed, only partially distracted by the night-soft sounds of weeping coming from the woman's window right below. 

He dreamed about war.


	5. The Mind of A Prince: V

Mind of a Prince - V 

Yamucha was unaware that war of a kind had been declared on him, even though it had from two separate fronts. Bulma, for her part, was more determined than ever to keep him; and Vejiita, for his, was determined to see him roast.

The problem with this new and pointed urge was that Vejiita did not want it there. Yamucha wasn't worth his time; nothing about the unfaithful earthling would have provided Vejiita with more than a few minutes of entertainment, either in mind or in body. So why the sudden desire to make him die?

No, scratch that - to make him _suffer_. There was a distinct difference between the two, which Vejiita knew quite well after being under Freeza for so many years. He wanted to see Yamucha suffer with a vengeance that made no sense, and the passion of it disturbed him. 

Vejiita spent much of the next day thinking, and came to a conclusion. It wasn't his woman. Wasn't his problem. In fact, by the end of the afternoon, when the next wish of the dragon was being made and Tenshinhan and Chaozu were being brought back from the dead, he decided that it was so much not his problem that he wasn't going to deal with it anymore.

And with that, he ran away. Not fifteen minutes after Tenshinhan and Chaozu rejoined their friends, Vejiita stole Bulma's spaceship and fled the earth.

He claimed the need to train as his reason; Bulma claimed male stupidity and stubbornness. Kuririn blamed no one at all and simply thanked the gods Vejiita was gone. 

Time passed, peace came and stayed for a while, and the Z-warriors, having not much else to do, hung around the Capsule Corporation and took a well deserved vacation

* * *

Dende had to pause at this point and get a drink. He'd been talking for well over an hour, and his throat was sore. "Ahh... that's much better," he said with a smile, handing the empty glass back to Mr. Popo. "I was beginning to think I'd have to stop."

To his credit, Mr. Popo did not look upset at this suggestion. "Ah," he said, trying to convince himself that he was not eager and was only listening to relieve the young Kami's excess energy, "I would like to hear the rest, Mr. Dende - but only if you're not overly tired." 

Interpreting Popo's guarded response as enthusiasm, Dende beamed and bounced in his seat. "Isn't it GREAT? It's just WONDERFUL! I LOVE this story!"

Mr. Popo could not help but smile. "Of course, sir. Please continue, whenever you are ready."

Dende smiled. "This is the part where they both start thinking," he said, and continued his story.

* * *

Vejiita had stayed away from the earth for a little more than a year; it would be perfectly honest to say that during this time, he never really thought of Bulma at all. He trained; he sought out more of Freeza's men, random volatile aliens and meteor fields, and tested his mettle successfully against them all. 

However, for some reason this all failed to make him happy. No matter what he did - no matter how many rocks he smashed, people he killed or weapons he defeated - Vejiita was unable to achieve the transformation to Super Saiyan. 

The most frustrating thing was that he _did not know why_. He KNEW he was working harder than Kakarotto ever had; his exhaustion every time he lay down to sleep was such that every muscle in his body shook. He spent every waking moment working toward the perfection of his body; honing his mind and his skills toward the excellence that came with a well executed kill. But he seemed to be getting no closer.

What was the clue? What little, stupid, insignificant detail was he missing that Kakarotto had easily caught? It couldn't be anything genetic; Vejiita knew he had the right lineage. It also couldn't be discipline; it galled Vejiita in a deep and unforgivable way that he worked harder than Kakarotto, yet still was behind him in power.

So then WHAT WAS IT?

...Vejiita did not know; and after a while, he grew tired of looking. Perhaps that was why he decided to return to earth.

* * *

It was August, 764. Vejiita had been gone for almost a full year, and almost nothing of any importance had happened while he as gone. Gokuu had yet to return; nothing had attacked them, and nobody knew where either Gokuu or Vejiita were. 

No one else seemed overly bothered by this, although Gohan and Chichi clearly missed Gokuu. But it bothered Bulma; in fact, she'd been thinking quite a lot about them lately - Vejiita moreso than Gokuu, although she'd never admit it.

Since Vejiita's flight, she'd had more than enough time to consider what had passed between them. She'd had time to think about exactly the kind of man he was - exactly what kind of things he'd gone through as a child and young adult, and exactly why he behaved the way he did. On the whole, she'd come to realize that there was a lot more to Vejiita than he himself liked to let on. 

"I wonder," she thought to herself and sometimes asked aloud, "where did Vejiita go?"

Her simple questions galled Yamucha, although that did not stop her from asking them. It didn't matter to her what he thought about this because she'd come to realize a simple and true fact: Yamucha did not and perhaps could not understand.

In fact, with a weird thrill, Bulma realized that perhaps no one but her DID understand.

Vejiita carried in him a pride and weirdly burned nobility that set him apart from the other warriors. It even set him apart from the other Saiyans she'd seen - which, admittedly, were few, but they seemed to have a distinct similarity of character. Even Gokuu - when he was fighting - had that desire for violence, that mad and crude wildness that seemed to forgo all reason for the sake of bloodshed.

Vejiita, true, was violent; and he was terribly cruel, lusting to give damage both verbally and physically. But something about the WAY he did it...

He was _intelligent_ about it. It was very strange; even the way he insulted verbally when he fought was intelligent - it showed a keenness of observation that Bulma knew from long experience was not to be found in Gokuu, and didn't seem to be present in either Radditz or Nappa. 

So - intelligence. Coupled with that odd nobility; Vejiita didn't usually like to be dirty. As long as he'd stayed at the CC, Vejiita had bathed regularly on his own without needing to be told - a trait Bulma had not observed in other members of Vejiita's race. He ate neatly. He refused to simply scarf the way Gokuu and Gohan did. He even took care of his own clothing. 

And then - he would train.

Determination - chock another thing onto Vejiita's list. Bulma had never seen anyone so determined; it was as if Vejiita were attempting to take the saying "do your best or die trying" to a new level. Every day he'd done this; get up at dawn every morning and work until he could barely stand up.

Vejiita was a unique, damaged, and noble creature - all three were true at once. And sadly, no one else seemed to see it.

Perhaps this was the reason why when he finally returned from space, she behaved as though he'd never even left; she'd simply sent him into the shower and given him clothing as if he hadn't even been gone a day. Somehow, she understood: he'd never had a home. The only thing he'd had had been with that awful Freeza, and even then - he'd been alone. The last of the royal line of his race; and, just possibly, the last of his race, _period_.

Freeza had been brilliant to leave no female Saiyans alive.

So - she treated him as though he'd returned to where he belonged, and in unknowing support of her theory, he'd accepted it. He hadn't tried to hurt her or anybody near. It was a mystery to everyone but her - becuase they simply did not understand.

* * *

The day came and went; and with it came many unpleasant surprises. 

Although being Prince Vejiita was normally not an unpleasant thing, recent events had conspired to make him regret it, and by the end of the month Vejiita began to wonder if it were worth remaining himself at all. As an omen of things to come, Freeza had returned; not dead, as everyone had thought, and very vengeful, as only made sense. Was Kakarotto back to deal with this? Oh, not yet - but he'd apparently sent a replacement. 

Sme random purple haired punk came before Kakarotto could, who, as a matter of bitter irony, could also attain Super Saiyan even though Vejiita still could not. How could he do this? Nobody knew; and nobody was telling. Kakarotto then finally deigned to return, equipped (naturally) with new powers, funny clothes, and absolutely no useful information for anybody at all. And lastly, as a final insult, everyone had split up in different directions to train because if they did not, in three years they'd all be dead.

There was longer any question. The gods were out of their drunken-ass minds.

Vejiita reflected on this bitterly as he sat in the Briefs' living room and waited for them to finish their discussion. 

"I'm telling you, I could do this in three days." She held up the appropriate fingers. "Three. Days."

"Bulma dear.... no," Dr. Briefs replied simply, puffing on his cigarette between phrases and looking as happily clueless as the cat which perpetually clung to his shoulder. "It's a little much even for YOU."

Vejiita restrained his chuckle and turned more of his attention toward the conversation. It was really amusing, in a way; you'd have thought the woman's own PARENTS would understand her, but it seemed that this wasn't the case. Vejiita himself had long understood that insulting her abilities and/or intellect was a sure way to get her furious; however, her parents didn't seem to understand.

He took a special pride in that, really; what irony - that no one should understand the loud-mouthed woman but him. 

"For me?! What's that supposed to mean?" she screeched. 

"Hm? Oh, just what I said, dear."

"What you..."

"Yes, Bulma, darling. Papa says you can't do it in three days, so you should probably just settle back and tell Mr. Vejiita Prince that it can't be done for a week or so. Oh, would you like some deviled eggs, Vejiita?"

"No, he would NOT like some!" Bulma said, and stamped her foot. Vejiita hadn't, but just for that, he took three. 

Naturally, this act of rebellion did nothing but pour more fuel onto the fire.

"I can so do it in three days!" Bulma exclaimed, finger pointed at her placid father.

"Can't," Dr. Briefs said, and his wife shook her head. 

"Two! I can even do it in TWO!"

"Now - Bulma dear, don't you think you're getting a little...ridiculous?"

Bulma stared at him.

"Just a little over-excited, perhaps?" he suggested.

"I AM NOT EXCITED!!" she screamed, losing it completely, and spinning on her heel, stormed toward the exit. Then suddenly, as if posing for a photo op, she spun back around, framing her fury with quiet intensity as she stood before the open door. "I won't do it in three days - "

"Of course you won't -" Dr. Briefs began, but she wasn't finished.

"I won't even do it in two." 

Silence this time; both her parents blinked.

"I, Bulma Brassier Briefs, will do it... in ONE!" she proclaimed, raising both arms toward heaven as she stood akimbo. As if on cue, lightening crackled behind her.

Her parents stared. Vejiita laughed; and Bulma turned on him with all the wrath and speed of an enraged cobra.

"I'm doing this for YOU, you big, stupid lug! So you'd BETTER ENJOY IT!" And with that, she slammed away, fleeing both her parents' disapproval and Vejiita's censure.

Vejiita merely smiled. Gods, it really was pathetic; you know - he could get this woman to do whatever he wanted - and NO one else would even see it coming.

Feeling absurdly pleased - honestly, as though he'd brought down some great beast of prey in battle - Vejiita left. He would have his gravity room by this time tomorrow - and damn it all, it was none too soon.

* * *

And with that, he trained.

Bulma began to be concerned after a while. Yes, the androids were coming; and yes, he had to beat Kakarotto. But he seemed to be under a greater stress than he had been when he left; he shouted in his sleep sometimes, for example. She wasn't sure if he knew that he did, but since her room was right above his, so she could hear him. Sometimes.

He shouted all sorts of things; curses, threats. Screams of terror, of fury - of regret. Well - she thought it was regret. Once or twice she was certain she'd heard him crying, but she wasn't sure why.

No one had told her that he'd wept on Namek when he lost his life; that he'd finally felt the regret and loss of a life gone wrong, of chances taken away from him, of a people and culture lost forever. No one had told her this; but after watching him for a few days, she would not have been surprised at all to learn of it. 

_"That Vejiita's trying to do the impossible..."_

_"He's a freak with a fighting mania."_

_"Oh, but he's so CUTE!" Mrs. Briefs' voice, seemingly, would cut through steel._

_Bulma sighed, stirring the tea her mother had brought. "I thought you said you liked Gokuu. What, you've switched to Vejiita now?"_

_"Gokuu's handsome too, but I love the way it feels like Vejiita's under a shadow."_

_...under a..._

_"Oh, and I also love his wide forehead! Ooh, I know, I'll ask them out on a double date!"_

Bulma shook her head sharply, jolting loose the weird memory that clung to her like dirt. Her mother was insane. But - 

Under a shadow; yes. Vejiita DID feel that way. It had the effect of both alluring and alarming; Bulma honestly did not know how to treat it.

...and there was no WAY Gokuu was as handsome as Vejiita. Her mother was definitely insane.

* * *

The explosion, when it happened, rocked the entire building, and afterwards Bulma really thought that she should have known it was coming.

"...VEJIITA!" Bulma knew; knew what that sound was, knew he'd been pushing too hard - 

No. He couldn't be dead. Would not be. 

She rounded the corner simultaneously with Yamucha; both stopped and stared, taking in the carnage.

The gravity room had been completely destroyed. There were pieces strewn everywhere - some fully a hundred meters away - and all of them were smoking. Sparks from severed wires leapt into the air as the last of the machine's power emptied to the sky, and among this unrecognizable wreckage, there was no sign of Vejiita.

Yamucha stared. "We should have expected this," he said, his tone already pronouncing Vejiita dead. "He was doing some dangerous train - hey, Bulma!"

Bulma had raced past him, stumbling over chunks of cement, ignoring the bruises and scrapes she collected along the way. Picking a spot seemingly at random - and using her bare hands - she began to dig.

"Bulma!"

"Vejiita!" Bulma cried, and if she noticed how strained her voice was, it didn't show. "He can't be dead! He can't be - "

And then Vejiita's hand shot abruptly out of the wreckage, followed quickly by the rest of him as he struggled free of the rubble. He was filthy; his clothing was torn, there were visible abrasions everywhere, and as he stood, he wobbled.

Bulma stared; as much as she'd understood him, it hadn't helped her to prevent this. She felt... helpless. "...are you still alive?" came out of her mouth.

"Isn't it obvious?" he snapped, not really looking at her. As much as he'd understood her, he hadn't thought she'd BE here to watch him struggle away from his moment of weakness. This was humiliating.

Relief poured through her system; and with the relief came the ability to be angry. "WHAT were you thinking?!" she suddenly screeched. "You almost destroyed my HOUSE!"

And Vejiita, who was growing progressively more mortified that this had happened, tried to shout back at her - but it didn't happen.

Instead of shouting, he simply collapsed.

Bulma's ire disappeared instantly. "Vejiita!" She rushed to his side and helped him to sit up. As if she'd needed confirmation as to the damage he'd had, he wasn't trying to push her away. Instead, he growled.

"Don't do anything foolish! You're getting in the way of my training."

Oh, great. He was injured AND hallucinating. "How is this training? You can't train like this!" Bulma sat him up as much as she dared, some part of her mind marveling at the raw _solidity_ of him - the same as it was in Gokuu or Yamucha or any of the other warriors, it was true - 

...but none of them were under a shadow.

Bulma shuddered and hoped no one noticed.

"These wounds are nothing," Vejiita boasted, feeling slightly as if he were beginning to fall and unaware of the desperation that snuck into his voice. "I'm the best Saiyan in the universe! I've got to be better than Kakarotto soon..."

Bulma made a sound of disbelief; her heart hurt for him. "I don't care if he's a carrot or a vegetable or whatever! YOU just do what I say!"

"Are you trying to order me around?" Vejiita abruptly stood, perhaps intending to loom; instead, he finally overdid it completely, and fell flat on his face. Vejiita was out for the count.

"Vejiita!"

* * *

Bulma, her mother, and her father stood and watched Vejiita lying in bed. The Saiyan prince had been unconscious for several hours, and although he was relatively unscathed - considering that he should have been dead - there was no question that he was going to remain out for quite a few more.

"Poor Vejiita," Mrs. Briefs said, an arm around her husband as she watched. 

"Really, though, it's a miracle," Bulma's father shared, puffing on his cigar. "After that big explosion, it's impressive that he got away with so few wounds. Those Saiyans are certainly impressive."

Mrs. Briefs shook her head, repeating her mantra: "Poor Vejiita."

"Well, better rebuild the gravity room," Dr. Briefs said quite casually, and headed out the door, his wife in tow.

Bulma watched in silence. Then without a word, she went to get some of her lab studies. Spreading out her notebooks on the desk next to Vejiita's bed, she proceeded to do her work there, not leaving, budging only to use the bathroom or to grab a snack. She checked his monitors every half hour or so, and hoped that at least he was having good dreams.

Never once did she wonder at the "why" of her own behavior.

* * *

Vejiita slept for some hours. And during those hours, his nightmares - comprised of Kakarotto, Trunks, and his own inability to reach them - played over and over again in his mind. It hurt; the frustration of his weakness seemed to burn into his soul.

Over and over again he recalled his father's words, clinging to them as if they were his life; fresh breeze in the heat of the desert. His only clear thought was that he was going to surpass Kakarotto. Had to. There was nothing else. 

Nightmares came. His father - who in life had praised him, telling him how powerful he was and reciting the possibilities for his future - now accused in his dreams, flinging images of Kakarotto and this "Trunks" at him like artillery from a canon.

_Why... WHY..._

Kakarotto and Trunks, in his sleeping mind's eye, ahead of him - unreachable, moving too quickly for him, ALWAYS out of reach.

_WHY... Why can't I reach them..._

Relief from these nightmares finally - and only - came because Vejiita was able to recall his father's words to him. King Vejiita - and the planet Vejiita-sei - had been destroyed when Vejiita himself was five years old. Freeza had chosen to let the boy live; the reason was simple: his power rating, at the age of five, was greater than that of any other Saiyan remotely close to his age. Vejiita was unique - and hence, made a nice collectible for Freeza the Magnificent Bastard.

But Vejiita's father - before he died - had known.

_You're the best of the Saiya-jin, and you will become their king._

_Father..._

Vejiita needed no father. He needed NOTHING - and yet still... the treasured words remained.

_As soon as we Saiya-jin are born, our fighting strength is tested. Low powered Saiya-jin are sent to planets without very good opponents. Prince, when you were born your fighting strength placed in the super elite. I know that you will become the best Saiya-jin in the universe. There's even a chance you could become the legendary Super Saiya-jin_...  
  
_Yes..... YES_

___I WILL SURPASS THEM ALL_

He woke with a start, and that was when he noticed that Bulma was next to him in the room.

She'd fallen asleep at her desk; papers with indecipherable squiggles lay scattered around and under her arms, on which rested her head, and she slept peacefully with her lips slightly parted.

Of all things in the world, Vejiita had never expected to see this; and perhaps because it was so unexpected and he was still slightly drugged, he stared at her and thougth she was beautiful.

Her shoulders rose and fell slightly with her breathing; her eyelashes rested on her cheeks. Her skin was just... well, it was just about as perfect as one could want - which made the watching easier. And her curves - 

Vejiita was a fairly immoral adult; he knew by now what pleasure such a shape could bring. It was unfortunate that such a mouth had to go with the body; her attitude was really untenable. What the hell was she doing in here, anyway? She had no business being here; it didn't matter that it was her house. It wasn't as if he were going to die, or something.

Or maybe she thought he WAS, and was planning to experiment on his body.

Hm. You know, perhaps that wasn't the best thing to be thinking about right now. 

Tearing his gaze away from her body and removing some of his more confining bandages, Vejiita snuck out the door and headed straight for the gravity room. He was mildly impressed that it had been rebuit, but not overly surprised; these Briefs were nothing if not overachievers. Turning it up to 400 times the earth's gravity, he went back into his routine as though no time at all had passed. And it was while he was training here - fleeing Bulma's image as much as he was fear of his own weakness - that a small thing occured to change his relationship with Bulma forever.

Yamucha, standing outside the gravity room with Puuar at his side, watched Vejiita train with jealousy. He'd tried three hundred times earth's gravity; he hadn't even been able to stand. And there was Vejiita, working away as though four hundred times was _nothing_ - and while he was injured, to boot.

Oh, this would not do; this would not do at all.

"Come on, Puar," Yamucha said, not even sparing a thought for Bulma in his current decision. "Let's go on a training expedition." 

"Okay!" Puar said happily, and the two of them took off for the mountains - without even bothering to tell Bulma goodbye.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Bulma woke up in Vejiita's room. Seven seconds after that, she realized where he was and tore after him.

All right - on some level, it really DID please her that he was well enough to do this; it seemed that he healed naturally even more quickly than Gokuu. Healing properties aside, however, he was being stupid, and male, and that meant he was probably going to do the same mistake all over again.

Knowing that opening the door would change the pressure and make the thing explode, she opted instead to communicate to Vejiita through somewhat less subtle means. And, after all, what's the use of having a ten-foot hologram projection of your head if you weren't going to use it?

"Hey!" she shouted, said hologram taking up fully half the wall on that side and making Vejiita actually jump. "Vejiita! What the HELL do you think you're doing! Why are you training, hurt as you are? If you do that you'll never heal up properly!"

Vejiita ignored her; silently, he was weighing whether the gravity machine was actually worth having to put up with her mouth even when he was training. Well, it wasn't a big deal; he would just find the holographic projectors and rip them out later. "Noisy wench; what a low-class woman," he offered by way of third person comment, and continued his pushups. 

But you know, Fate has a funny sense of timing; naturally, as she was staring at him in sleep-disarrayed glory, he collapsed. It had not been intended; he merely slipped and hit the floor, which - at four hundred times gravity - was no small thing. Inhaling sharply through his teeth, Vejiita clutched his side and grimaced.

"See?" Bulma stated in a weird mix of triumph and concern. "Look at what you did! Don't you ever learn from your mistakes?" Vejiita, injured, didn't have the breath to answer her, so she kept going. "You see? You can't do anything. I thought so. I'm ALWAYS right."

Oh, that was just absurd... "Do you WANT to die in three years?" Vejiita abruptly threatened, glaring balefully at her over his wrapped shoulder.

Bulma looked satisfactorily horrified. "What? Of course not! I want to live! I'm still a young and beautiful girl."

Yes, she was - which thought, for some reason, galled him. "Then..." Vejiita rose to his knees. "SHUT..." he staggered to his feet. "_UP!!_"

They glared at one another for a moment, Vejiita panting and clutching his arm, Bulma furious and trying not to blush.

"...Well!" she finally announced, and switched off the hologram.

"About time," Vejiita muttered to himself, and resumed his training. 

It was the first time they'd addressed one another directly without insults, but neither of them knew the significance.

Stupid woman. Stupid _human. _ She didn't know what she was talking about. He'd beat Kakarotto yet; that would show her. That would show everybody.

...he would show them all.


	6. The Mind of A Prince: VI

**Mind of a Prince - VI: War - Beginning, Middle, End**

Vejiita came in from his training in search of food, and what he found was something certainly edible - even if it wasn't exactly what he'd looked for.

Bulma was in the kitchen, wearing a tight little red dress, holding lipstick in one hand and reaching into the refrigerator with the other. Her hair was up, swept into a configuration that he'd never seen before, and somehow it semed to make her profile sharper, her eyes and lips more noticeable. Vejiita stopped walking and looked at her.

Whatever Bulma was reaching for clinked - the sound of glass on glass - and apparently satisfied, she straightened. Closing the refrigerator, she applied the lipstick unerringly, capped it, and only then turned to look.

It was obvious how much effort she'd put into this. He'd seen her room; he knew in what condition she normally kept her belongings, and it was safe bet that this dress had not come from there. Vejiita was mildly fascinated; her long, overly-diamonded earrings caressed her neck as she turned, and he wondered if that self-imposed touch was in hope of things to come. 

"What?" she snapped at him, one hand on her curvy hip and the other tapping impatient fingers on the counter. 

"Waiting for your lover?" Vejiita said without real expression, eyeing her speculatively and smiling gently as if in friendly conversation.

It was really the smile that did it. Planting her high-heeled feet as far apart as the dress would allow, Bulma narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "Why are you asking?" she demanded, putting the other hand on her hip. "Did you do something to him? Or are you gonna?"

Vejiita chuckled, grinning more broadly now and looking far more interested than he had a moment ago. "Why? Would that bother you?"

Bulma's eyes narrowed to slits and she jabbed her index finger at him, giving him the chance to observe that her nail polish matched her dress exactly and that the length of said nails had suspiciously increased. He suspected fakes. 

"YOU are going to leave HIM alone, and YOU are going to leave ME alone! We are going to have a WONDERFUL romantic evening, and don't you even THINK that you can mess this up for m... for us, or I swear to kami, I'll PULL OUT YOUR EYEBALLS!" And she panted, still leveling a finger at him, and sporting a lovely flush high in her cheeks.

Vejiita laughed heartily, crossing his arms and leaning against the table. "No," he said. "No, I'm not going anywhere tonight, woman. This stands to be far too amusing, and I need amusement on this pitiful mudball you call a planet."

Bulma sputtered at him, but before she could really reply, Yamucha walked in through the pantry door. 

He'd been training, of course; these days he was always training, working toward the goal of saving the future, and it had taken a lot of time for Bulma to find him and insist he come back for just one night. He hadn't said a word when he left three weeks ago, and even now when coming back, he didn't seem particularly concerned about the feelings of his host. At least, he didn't until he actually saw her.

His reaction was far more pleasing than Vejiita's. 

"Holy... wow!" he exclaimed, dropping the parcel he'd been carrying to the floor. "Bulma, you... you look incredible!"

Bulma recovered her poise - as much for her target as her audience. "Oh... you like this old thing?" she said coyly, sticking one hip out in that alluring position only females can do convincingly and tossing her head so her earrings caught the light. "I'm glad you like it. So are you going to kiss me or what?"

Yamucha looked like a little boy who'd been afraid Christmas would never come. "Y-you want me to?" he asked. 

Bulma was definitely performing for both men now. ""Oh... I DO want you to, Yamucha," she said almost shyly, walking toward him with a slow hip-swing. "I do... and now that I've really thought about it - " she draped her arms over his shoulders - "I do... WANT you... Yamucha." And she kissed him. 

And stopped almost immediately, turning away so the face she made wouldn't be obvious, but Vejiita had already seen it. She had just made the unlucky discovery that Yamucha hadn't brushed his teeth in days.

Yamucha was clueless. "Hallelujah!" he exclaimed, and yanked her against him with both arms; she "oofed" lightly. "Aw, this is gonna RO... ck..." He'd just noticed their company. 

"Um... Vejiita," he said with hesitation, not seeming to notice that Bulma was trying to avoid breathing his air. "Uh... you're going away now, right?"

Vejiita could hold it in no longer; almost doubling over, he burst out laughing. Apparently unable to speak, he shook his head "no."

Yamucha looked put out. "But... look dude, this ISN'T your time."

"Ignore him," advised Bulma, and finally managed to push out of Yamucha's arms. "And while you're doing that, do you think you could ignore him in the shower? You really need to get cleaned up, bub."

Yamucha looked mildly offended. "But... aren't we gonna...."

"A-HEM," Bulma said, nodding her head in the direction of the still-laughing Vejiita.

Yamucha brightened. "Ooh, I got an idea," he said. "Why don't you join me in the shower? That's NICE and romantic, isn't babe," he soothed, pulling her back against him.

Bulma looked moderately horrified. "YA-mu-CHA," she said, indicating Vejiita again and once more trying to pull away. "Like HELL it is - you go and you get cleaned up right now or there will be NO nookie for you!"

Yamucha let go of her and pouted. "Oh fine, you just be that way," he said childishly, and stormed up the stairs. 

"Argh," Bulma said quietly, wiping at the grime he'd gotten on her dress and wondering if he'd remembered that this - 

"Does that idiot even know you're still a virgin?" Vejiita asked finally, smirking instead of chortling. 

"WHAT?" she shouted, spinning on him in disbelief. "The HELL is that your business?!"

Vejiita shrugged. "It's obvious that you are, and just as obvious that that idiot doesn't know what to do with you. If you really want to throw it away, fine - you do that. In the shower... gods," he said, and started chuckling again.

"What's WRONG with doing it in the shower?" screeched Bulma, her face going bright red. 

"What's WRONG? Gods, there's no flexibility," Vejiita said, honestly making it up as he went along but enjoying her responses too much to stop. "You can't really bend over. You can't lie down. Sitting is possible, but your knees would be up. Gods, the only thing you could do is keep your legs around his waist and hope you don't fall off!"

"Fall... OFF?!" she sputtered, and decided she'd really had enough. Bulma made a grab for her rolling pin.

Still laughing, Vejiita dodged her throw and flitted around her, moving JUST quickly enough that she could follow his movements, and then ran out the door. Of course, she ran after him, screaming. In fact, she was upset enough that she followed him all the way to the mailboxes, high heels or no high heels, and by the time they got there, Vejiita felt the need to turn for one more parting shot.

He'd been careful not to get too far ahead of her, so when he stopped and turned, she all but ran into him.

Leaning into her face, he leered. "Aw, and now you're all sweaty," he said. "Perhaps you need a shower after all!"

"GRAH!" she screamed, and swung her rolling pin, but he was already gone. "VEJIITA! YOU... STUPID... RUDE... _SON OF A BITCH!!_" she panted, shouting randomly at the sky and sure he could hear her. "YOU don't know anything! I'm going to do it ANYWHERE I WANT and ENJOY it, so THERE you kami-blasted MORON! ARGH!" And spinning on her heels, she stalked back into the building, not giving a damn if the neighbors had heard her or not.

Somehow, Vejiita kept from cracking up until Bulma had gone back inside the house; then, holding his sides, he collapsed back onto the roof of the Capsule Corporation and simply laughed until there were tears rolling down his cheeks. 

* * *

_Big stupid MORON_, Bulma was thinking to herself, still red to match her dress and gripping her rolling pin so tightly that the wooden handle cracked. _I'll show him. What does HE know, anyway? Probably never even had a willing woman outside a damned prostitute_, she thought, and for a moment looked triumphant at the thought; then she remembered her mother's comments about Vejiita's attractiveness - and her own feelings seeing him at night, wreathed in shadow and oh-so-ominously appealing.

"Damnit," she muttered to herself, tossing the rolling pin onto the couch, and climbed the stairs to see what had become of Yamucha.

Yamucha had, fortunately, come out of the shower now; he was strutting around the room, clad in a towel, and looking considerably better for being clean. He'd even thought to brush his teeth. 

"Bulma," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows, putting his hands on his hips and posing. "You like? The view's all for you, babe, and I thought - "

And he didn't get to say another word because Bulma marched right at him, grabbed the back of his head, and kissed him very hard.

"Mmph! Mm? Mmmm," Yamucha said, and closing his eyes, returned the kiss. What had spurred her into this, he wasn't sure; but at the moment, it also didn't matter. Deepening the kiss, he pulled her over to the bed and dropped her onto it.

Bulma bounced lightly, on her back, her knees bent over the edge of the matress, and had one moment of fear as Yamucha climbed over her. This wasn't exactly what she'd imagined; but... well, it was a little too late now. Wrapping her arms around him, she closed her eyes and kissed him again.

After a short while, it began to feel good; and thinking about his hands on her, thinking about how strong he was, and how handsome, it began to feel _very_ good indeed. So good, in fact, that she almost missed it when he called her the wrong name.

He'd just barely gotten the top of her dress pulled down enough to be naughty, and she made a little squeak because he'd nipped her. And apparently, the squeak reminded him of someone else.

"Mmm... Margarite," Yamucha said, his face buried in her bosom; and Bulma froze.

"....what... did you call me?" Her voice was quiet.

"Mmm.. Ma.. Bulma," Yamucha said, possibly catching his error although his own mental state was far enough gone that this wasn't a certainty.

Bulma lay still for another few moments while he groped, no longer feeling good at all, and when she spoke again, her voice had a catch in it.

"Get off me," she said; naturally, Yamucha heard _that_. 

"Uh... what?" he said, looking confused. Bulma tugged her dress back up, glad on some level that he hadn't yet removed her bra. "I said get off me," she repeated, shoving at him lightly. "Go find your Margarite, since she obviously means so much to you." And she was horrified to feel wetness on her cheeks. Frustrated, she wiped at them.

Yamucha didn't seem to have any idea what she was talking about. "But... why?" he said, looking hurt, and Bulma sighed and had some pity on him.

"Because you just called me by the wrong name, Yamucha," she said, sitting up. "I don't think either of us is really ready to do this."

Yamucha went very still. "I didn't mean to, Bulma," he said.

"I know," she said, and then they were silent for a time.

"I'm going," she said at last, and stood. Tugging her dress down around her hips and wiping at her cheeks again - quickly, sort of in vain hope that it wouldn't be noticed - she headed for the door, not bothering to pick up her shoes.

"Bulma," Yamucha said, still quiet, and Bulma paused just inside the door. 

"Yes?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, and she knew he meant it; for some reason, that brought more tears.

"I... I know, Yamucha," she said, unable to keep her voice steady. "But I think that's a pretty good sign that we shouldn't do this... don't you?"

"Bulma," Yamucha said, sound frustrated; then he ran his hands into his hair and sighed. "Fine. Go. Just... just go." 

Bulma hesitated for one moment, as if hoping he'd say something else; but he didn't, and in defeat, she left and closed the door behind her.

Yamucha waited a moment, then hit the pillow with his fist. "Damnit," he muttered, scowling at the door. "I was so fucking CLOSE!"

* * *

Bulma went to her room long enough to strip out of her dress and pull on some sweats; then she went back downstairs, turned the lights off, and plunked in front of the television. Twenty minutes later saw her in the same position, flipping through the stations without any interest in anything she saw.

"Hm. Showers must make things go quickly - or did he just lose control early on?" Vejiita had come in, and was honestly surprised to see her; of course, he had to poke. 

Bulma didn't respond; the shopping network went by, then the gameshow network.

Well, this was interesting. Vejiita could smell hormones, but not much else - it was a safe guess Bulma had not succeeded in her plans for the evening, even though there wasn't any reason he could see why they wouldn't. Curious, he pushed more. "Or maybe you found it too painful - he didn't really seem the type to know how to properly touch a woman. You're matched well."

Still, no answer. The cartoon network, the cooking channel...

Vejiita frowned as the tv chef explaining how to cook duck was interrupted by an advertisement for cars, which was similarly interrupted by a rock concert. "Woman? Did you hear me?"

"Why don't you just go away, Vejiita?" Bulma asked tonelessly, unblinking as the channels flipped by. "Just go away and leave me alone."

Vejiita was silent for a long moment, studying her as colors and lights from the screen lit her skin. Finally, he spoke again. "You deserve better anyway," he murmured, sounding very much as if he wasn't sure why he was saying that, and turned to go.

Bulma laughed bitterly. "Why? Because I'm just as much of a scumbag?" She didn't sound like she meant it, either.

"No," Vejiita said, and turned, his skin clear and smooth in the moving lights of a children's program. "Because you're stronger than he is." And with that, he left; and Bulma was so amazed he'd said it that she stopped changing the channel.

That was not a word Vejiita used idly, she knew; but what he'd meant in context and why he'd said it now...

Now, when she was down, now, when it would have been so easy to kick her in the gut - 

Bulma was amazed. Silent, she stared unseeing at the children's channel for the rest of the night and remained deep in thought.

* * *

Mr. Popo watched Dende's face, amazed at how much joy this recounting gave him - and utterly shocked that he recalled such details as the brush of Bulma's earrings against her throat or the smoothness of Vejiita's skin in the light of the television. These seemed so intimate, so _personal_- even edged with an awareness of the sexual, although Dende did not seem to know that. Popo wondered - not for the first time - if Dende was honestly aware of what he was saying.

Dende, for his part, really didn't seem to have a clue. He stopped to drink some water and catch his breath. 

"Isn't this AMAZING?" he said, sloshing some of the water out of his glass in his enthusiasm. "I had no idea this sort of thing was so complex!"

"Complex," repeated Mr. Popo, clearing his throat as he leaned forward to adjust Dende's cushions.

"Oooh, yes, SO complicated!" Dende exclaimed. "People go back and forth and they switch from love to hate - all the while just confusing infatuation and anger for the REAL thing, which lasts even through the annoyance they THINK is hatred - it's amazing!"

Mr. Popo decided not to decode all that, but instead offered a treat. "Hot water with lemon?"

"Ooh," Dende said, eyes wide. "Mr. Popo," he said suspiciously, grinning. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" 

Popo smiled. "Not at all, sir," he said, pouring some of the aforementioned hot lemon water into Dende's glass. "You've been talking for a long time, and this is supposed to be good for the throat, Mr. Dende, sir."

"For the throat, huh?" Dende took a sip and closed his eyes. "Woooo-ooh," he said, running his tongue over his lips. "I don't think I can take too much of this," he said warily, and Popo chuckled.

"You'll be fine, sir," he replied. "I didn't put much in. Just sit back and enjoy, and then tell me more of this wondrous story."

And so, smiling, Dende did just that; leaning back in his sedan, he relaxed, feeling the tinge of lemon work its magic in his muscles and mind. He couldn't have lemon often - it tended to make him grouchy when overdosed - but in small amounts made for an absolutely delightful evening. He'd even heard of wild concoctions that used things like pineapple juice, but he knew he wasn't ready for that. One drink at a time was wiser.

"Are you feeling better, Mr. Dende, sir?" 

"Much, Mr. Popo," Dende said, and with that, continued the story.


	7. The Mind of A Prince: VII

**Mind of a Prince - VII: Buildup**

To say that something had changed between them would be a cheapening of unforgiveable degree, and although it was not immediately obvious to everyone, those few chosen who heard, saw, and experienced the battling between Vejiita and Bulma did notice a difference: the War had become a game.

Oh, this wasn't say that they were _nice_ to each other or anything like that; they still exchanged insults, ribbing abrasively at whatever opportunity came their way, occasionally shouting and once in a while throwing frying pans - at least on Bulma's end. But something about the flavor of their battle was different; it was still edged, still fire, still cutting - and now was laced with a tense sexual fury.

It was undeniably flirting. Almost everything they said now was charged with it, although the outpouring tended to be just subtle enough to narrowly miss the comprehension range of their audience. Discretion was rule number one, especially at the beginning of their battle, and was only to be foregone when a triumphant coup d'état was at hand. Indeed, most of it was done with looks; with body language, posturing, subtle indications of ignorance or inability and a dark reference to past behavior. 

Perhaps it was fortunate that Yamucha had fled the morning after his abortive seduction; he could never have taken the heat.

Gokuu at least wasn't bothered by it; perhaps he was fortunate that it went completley over his head. 

"Well. I don't know if I SHOULD give you one now, Mr. Smartass," Bulma was saying, knocking the top of the milkshaker with her fist for emphasis. It had stopped working after she'd given Gokuu his. "It seems to me you know absolutely nothing about it - and I do NOT reward ignorance."

"Then you should give yours to me," Vejiita replied calmly, eyeing her as though she were the milkshake. "Considering that you're too stupid to make another one, I'd say you have to forfeit yours."

"Bastard."

"Witch."

And quite calmly, she finished her shake and Vejiita went to get a piece of fruit, apparently both having conceded a draw.

Gokuu munched his sandwich and slurped his vanilla, watching them both but forming no conclusions. "This is good, Bulma."

"Thank you, Gokuu," she replied, tossing her hair at Vejiita. "SOME people certainly need to learn their manners regarding such things."

"It's your own fault you don't know anything about what to do with milk, woman," Vejiita mused, eyeing her sidelong. "Or even how to get it - shame Yamucha's gone, he COULD have helped you with that."

Bulma stared for a moment; the first rule of discretion had been broken, which meant it was now time for all-out war. "Okay, that is IT," she announced, and snatching her cast-iron pan off the wall, made for him like a dedicated cricket player.

Vejiita smirked and grabbed the pitcher filled with milkshake ingedients and held it over his head. Bulma came to a stop.

"Don't. You. Dare," she growled, her blue eyes narrowed to slits. 

"Or you'll do what, woman?" Vejiita replied, also in a low growl - which somehow managed to be more shivery than threatening - and Gokuu felt the need to interrupt.

"You know, she'll get really mad if you mess up her kitchen, Vejiita," Gokuu warned, but both combatants ignored him.

"I swear, if you drop that on the floors or the walls or ANYWHERE ELSE IN THIS ROOM, so help me kami, I will SHOVE this ENTIRE frying pan down your... y...your..." Bulma trailed off, her eyes huge with disbelief.

Calmly, smoothly, Vejiita was pouring the entire concoction down the front of Bulma's blouse. She stood still, speechless; viscous liquid dripped off her curves and splatted to the ground.

"There," Veiita said, putting the pitcher down and wiping his hands on a kitchen cloth. "Now you know what you're missing - although I somehow doubt Yamucha would have been as sweet."

Bulma made several noises following this remark, and although none of them could strictly be called "words" or even really be put into any particular language, their meaning was very, very clear. Especially when she put down her frying pan and picked up a butcher knife instead.

Gokuu stood, ever the peacemaker, and all too aware that things had gone too far. "Bulma!" he cried, but he needn't have bothered. 

Instead of running as usual, Vejiita took two, swiftly invisible steps toward her and grabbed her arm with the upraised blade. Inches from her face, he rumbled, low, slightly gravelly: "I wouldn't do that... if I were you."

Gokuu stopped. They were staring at one another, eye to eye, inches away, neither one blinking, and Bulma at least had gone rather red. Both seemed to have forgotten anyone else was in the room. Gokuu came a little closer. "Guys?" he asked, doubtfully, and startled by his tone, Bulma jumped. Her knife fell to the floor, slicing into the linoleum and quivering for a moment or two.

Satisfied, Vejiita stepped back; the tension between them, like a fine gossamer thread, was broken. 

Bulma stared at him, her cheeks still red, sputtering more ecstatic speech. She took a deep breath. "YOU... CLUMSY... SON... OF... A...."

"Bitch," Vejiita finished for her, _at_ her, and smirked; and then, he took off.

There was a pause, a moment of silence; and then Bulma simply threw her head back and screamed. Hands clenched, the muscles in her neck tense and visible, she only needed a backdrop of lightening to make the image complete.

Gokuu stared. "....wow," he said, honestly if not wisely. "You're really ticked off."

Bulma turned on him with bloodshot eyes and chased him out of the kitchen.

* * *

The sun was setting by the time Vejiita returned. He came back quietly and with no fanfare because he was planning to do what had become a ritual almost every night.

He was going to watch Bulma sleep.

He couldn't be sure exactly when it had started; he'd liked to sleep outside on the gravity machine for the past several weeks anyway, and then one night, had found that he wasn't sleeping - he was watching. That he HAD been watching; and that unless something drastically changed (say, Bulma got new curtains), he was going to CONTINUE to watch. 

It was certainly an education in human women. Of course, just saying it that way sounded completely unappetizing, but Vejiita had found it indeed very much to his liking - enough so that when he did it, he forgot to do anything else. 

She often bathed before she went to bed; she bathed in the morning, too, but he didn't watch that. It wasn't as..._ good_, somehow. Sometimes she went to bed naked, but usually she pulled at least a t-shirt on over her head. Twice, he'd seen her masturbate; and three times, she'd gone to bed in tears over something Yamucha had done.

For some reason those three times sat heavy in his memory, and in his chest, they burned.

He didn't know why this was; and although he was certainly capable of forming the connection, he refused to apply it to his increasing lack of patience with Yamucha. The human warrior bothered him; bothered him on such a level that after a while, Vejiita knew that just in the name of fair play he had to let Yamucha know that his life was just about forfeit.

So, one day, Vejiita simply blasted him through the walls of the Capsule Corporation's living room and into a neighbor's yard.

There was an absolutely delightful fuss, with ambulences and cameras and quite a lot of _very _upset earthlings running all over the place. It was so much fun that Vejiita had to wonder why he hadn't done it before, and whether he should wait until Yamucha came back to go at him again or just catch him off-guard in the hospital. Pleased, Vejiita had a marvelously good time planning it all out - until Bulma decided it was time to face the music.

She knew him well. Once the ambulence was gone, she parked in front of the fridge and just waited. About fifteen minutes later, he came in.

"Woman," he acknowledged with a nod, and stood in front of her. "Move."

"No," she said, and he looked at her.

"Woman. Move."

"No," she replied, calm and glaring. "That wasn't funny, Vejiita. You nearly killed him."

He gave her a dry look, amused. "And when I finally take out Kakarotto and destroy your planet, he'll die anyway. What's your point?"

She slapped him.

He saw it coming, of course; humans telegraphed their movements terribly, and she wasn't fast enough to even spit at him without his full consent. But he let her; he let her do it because he wanted her to know just _why_ he was tearing her bones out one at a time while she died.

The sound of her palm on his his face was surprisingly loud, and the silence that followed it, like a vacuum, left them both breathless. Almost gently, Vejiita took her hand in his and lifted it to his face.

"I hope you enjoyed that," he said, low, very dangerous. "It's the last thing you're ever going to do." And throwing her over his shoulder, he headed for the door. 

Bulma froze for one moment, but then instead of screaming or struggling, she just sighed. "And I suppose MY death can't wait until you defeat 'Kakarotto' and and destroy the planet?"

Vejiita sounded irritated. "No. You die now."

"Oh." She seemed to think for a moment, bouncing on his shoulder as he walked through the pantry. "Then maybe it should be a public execution, because if I just disappear then it doesn't serve a purpose."

"Of course it does," Vejiita snapped, wondering if he should break something to make her realize the gravity of her situation. "It would shut you the hell up."

"Oh, there are other ways to do THAT," she said in you-silly-thing tones, and Vejiita stopped where he was and dropped her. She landed fairly hard, rolling slightly and grimacing. 

"What the fuck is WRONG WITH YOU?" Vejiita suddenly exploded, gesticulating wildly. "I am going to KILL you! Do you get it? DIE! You are going to be DEAD!"

She looked up at him from the floor, pouting a little and rubbing her hip. "So? It's no reason to be rude!"

He stared at her. She stared back; and then, very solemnly, she stuck out her tongue.

Vejiita made a choked noise; he took one step back, looking as a man would who'd awakened to find himself in a madhouse, and without even a last word, he turned around and ran away. 

Bulma stayed where she was until she was sure he was gone, and then she began hyperventilating. Her mother found her that way about half an hour later, and not even Bulma was sure by that point if she was crying or not.

"I almost did it, mom," she said, and laughed hysterically; and that was all Mrs. Briefs could get out of her for the rest of the evening.

* * *

That night, Vejiita had no idea if Bulma did her usual strip tease by the window because he was thousands of miles away and wasn't there to watch. 

What the hell was wrong with _her_ had turned out to be entirely the wrong question; clearly, it was what was wrong with _him_. He hadn't killed her. Never - NEVER - had he taken someone weaker with full intent to make them dead and failed; not unless some freako like Kakarotto intervened, and no one had in this case. It wasn't even her weirdly laconic courage that really got to him, although that had been an irritant worthy of planetary destruction. No, what had bothered him more than anything else was that when he'd touched her, thrown her over his shoulder, he'd suddenly found that what he wanted to do had absolutely nothing to do with killing.

It had hit suddenly, surprisingly; a powerful lust that made him aware of every curve of her body, of the softness of her breasts as she lay draped over his back, of - 

No.

...no.

Vejiita came to a decision. He'd done this to himself, of that he was certain; well - from now on, he'd do it no longer. No more watching her. No more touching her. No more talking to her. He would still eat her food and suffer her incessant chatter, but that was IT - and only that much because it was terribly convenient to be waited on, and it would take away from his training to have to go conquer some country to get the same treatment. No, he would leave her alone for now; concentrate on growing strong. That would solve the issue.

It didn't even occur to him to take out his sexual frustrations on anyone else, on or off the planet; he only knew he had to resist her particular sexual allure, and that was as far as it went.

* * *

Bulma didn't sleep a wink that night because her hip was hurting - and because her mind kept replaying what had happened like afterimages from an old-fashioned camera. 

She should have been angry with him. She was frightened of him a little, but not for the reasons he would have thought. She had not been afraid he was going to kill her; she'd been afraid he was going to rape her - and that she was going to let him.

Let him? There would have been no rape; she would have _helped_. 

She'd been aware that Vejiita was a dangerously attractive man for some time now; but she was surrounded by dangerously attractive men, even if they weren't quite as attractive as Vejiita, and so did not usually let it bother her. And of course, she knew he was strong; knew he was intense, which pretty much anyone who faced him could figure out. She knew his eyes flashed like polished coal when he was passionate about anything, knew exactly how his lips curled when he was about to Do Something Drastic. She knew all of these things; but the fact still remained that when he'd thrown her over his shoulder, the first desire she'd had was to move against him in very lewd ways and kiss right down his incredibly broad back.

Sanity had not returned at any point during this episode; she just happened to be a very accomplished actress.

Bulma had finally calmed down after a while, although she'd frightened her mother enough that Mrs. Briefs had offered her a dose of Valium before letting her go. Bulma hadn't swallowed it, of course, but just accepting it seemed to assure her mother that she was all right to the point that she'd finally left her daughter alone. 

She was alone now. And wide awake.

Before turning out her lights, she'd peeked out her window to see if Vejiita was there. She'd discovered a couple of weeks ago that he often slept under the moonlight on top of the gravity machine, perfectly still like a sculpture of some ancient god, and after her lights were out she often lay in bed and watched him. 

He was beautiful; far more beautiful than any bad guy had a right to be, and sometimes watching him under the stars was too much for her and she'd shuddered into bliss as she went to sleep. It was a little frightening, sure; he was utterly still - utterly focused on whatever went on in his head, gaze pointed vaguely in the direction of her darkened window as if he could see inside. Sometimes, she almost thought he _could_ see her; but she dressed and did everything else in her room under the cover of darkness, so she knew that wasn't true.

He wasn't out there tonight, and Bulma felt a surprising emptiness in his wake. 

Weirdly, she even felt less _safe_, and that didn't make any sense at all. She sighed; she tossed and turned. She shifted, muttered curses at her bruised hip, muttered curses at him for dropping her on the floor and then running off and LEAVING her there. Finally, she dropped off to sleep.

She dreamed of making love while flying in the sky all night long.

* * *

Popo was staring intensely. He was being good - not talking, not moving, not doing anything at all to disturb his young master, because as soon as this portion of story was finished, Dende had fallen right to sleep. Mr. Popo knew he needed it; Dende had been story-telling all day, and clearly required rest. However -

In Mr. Popo's opinion, it was a sucky place to leave off.

Determined not to be silly over this, Popo went on a grand cleaning spree of the tower, hitting every spare room, nook, and cranny at least twice before moving on. Master Dende needed his rest, and so his rest he would get; and if Popo had to clean the entire world to keep from going crazy in the meantime, that was exactly what he would do. He cleaned; cooked a little food for himself, did some shopping, and wrote a few letters to his family. 

By the time he was done, it was evening. Dende had not yet woken up. It was obvious he was going to sleep for the rest of the night. Sighing, Mr. Popo tucked a blanket around him, then went to bed.


	8. The Mind of a Prince: VIII

Mind of a Prince - VII: Conquest 

_April 12, 764_

_I am surrounded. By idiots._

_Today mom and dad left; they went on some sort of half-assed Bermuda vacation, and before they left, they gave Vejiita a key._

_A KEY. A kami-damned KEY. Am I the ONLY being around here who isn't completely nuts? They gave the guy who can fly and blow this whole planet to hell a key, because they seem to think he's just one of the gang now. __Well, I know he's not. And he knows he's not. And now that my parents are gone, as well as Yamucha, Gokou, Piccolo, and anybody else who matters, I really don't know what he's going to do._

_Vejiita's been avoiding me all day now. I'm really not sure what he's getting into, exactly; he could be training, but he's not in the training room. And he hasn't come by for any food, although I did catch one glimpse of him when he was going from the kitchen to the outside._

_Gods. I wish for ONCE in my life, SOMEbody would tell me just what the hell was going on._

* * *

Vejiita was annoyed. Of course, phrasing it that way was sort of equivalent to saying, "the sun is hot." Vejiita was VERY annoyed, not leastwise because his self-prescribed fix simply wasn't working. He was avoiding her. He wasn't talking to her. He wasn't even looking at her - but still, she permeated his mind.

He picked up her scent walking around the corridors, so he abandoned the building.

He heard her step when he was practicing, high above the roof, so he flew far away.

He pictured her curved softness in his mind while he was tearing into imagined combatants, and THAT was the most unforgivable of all. One moment he was utter perfection, a killing machine, and the next his punches were off balance because instead of thinking about bruising and blood, he was thinking about breasts and bottom. Not acceptable; snarling, he shook his head to clear it and resumed his training - 

Only to find himself misjudging a simple attack a short while later, overbalancing, and slamming to the ground because he was recalling the way her body felt breathing against his for the moment he'd held it. He roared; he slammed his fists into the ground, creating miniature craters. This was not fair. NOT FAIR.

And it kept happening again. And again. And again. 

By the time the sun set that evening, Vejiita had more than had enough; not one of his long-and-involved practices had worked out the way they were supposed to, and as a result he was seeing red on a level he hadn't achieved since he was on the planet Namek. 

Darkness finally swept across the land, reaching over the mountains and across the sky like a giant blanket, and Vejiita stood and watched it. The moment he began to see Bulma's eyes in the twinkle of the perfect stars he knew there was no more avoiding the issue.

There was only one solution for this. Quiet and resolved, he lifted off into the air and turned back toward the Capsule Corporation to kill Bulma Briefs.

* * *

_April 12, 764, second entry_

_Ooookay. I'm getting a little worried now. Vejiita's been gone, but in a way it's worse; I could SWEAR I heard him screeching like some sort of animal a little while ago, and it never really occurred to me before, but you know that old expression, the enemy you know is better than the enemy you don't? __It kinda applies here, only I'd say: knowing where the hell enemy is is better than not having a fripping clue._

_I am NOT a happy camper._

_I guess I hadn't really thought about the fact that without Vejiita around I don't exactly have much protection. Annoying; since it means I have to actually set my stupid security robots back online again, and I HATE doing that because... well, really. Do YOU know how much Gokuu cost me by breaking those damned things? I swear it's Murphy's Law; I turn them on, and they're going to get buggered._

_Sometimes I hate my life._

* * *

Dende paused. "I'm not boring you, am I?" he asked oh-so-innocently, peering at Popo with sincere concern in his eyes as he looked for an answer.

"No sir," said Mr. Popo, who had long ago given up even the pretense of dusting the rooms. Dusting was a good excuse; he'd "accidentally" woken Dende with it when the time began to creep toward afternoon, and had continued to dust as Dende had his filtered breakfast. Then Dende began to talk; and after a while, Popo put the feather duster down.

"Please continue," he said, hoping vaguely in the back of his mind that Dende would not, in his odd innocence, tell EVERYTHING that happened. Popo had no desire to hear about the actual creation of Trunks, after all; but at the same time, he really had no desire to squelch Dende's story-telling streak. So, a quandary; which he solved by saying nothing at all.

Dende looked pleased with his encouragement. "Okay," he said cheerfully, and bounced a little on his cushions before continuing.

* * *

When Vejiita arrived, he did not bother dismantling Bulma's robots. He didn't want to take the chance that there was some sort of absurd alarm system installed, which could possibly alert Kakarotto to his activities. Kakarotto would be dealt with - but not at this time.

This time was for Bulma.

The thorn in his side. The nail in his shoe. The flat beer after a long day of training. This was it; he was going to kill her, once and for all, and just be done with the whole damned business. He'd teach her to distract him while he was busy becoming Strong.

It was a funny thing, though; even as he zipped past the security robots too quickly for them to register his presence and in through the fourth-floor story window no one ever remembered to lock, he had a feeling things were not going to go quite as he had planned. It was a momentary, niggling doubt; not one he cared to consider, and as he stood inside the room before he went down the stairs, he knew: this was his last chance to change his mind.

Vejiita only considered for a moment; that was all it took for the damned fan...no, IMAGES of her to creep back into his mind. And that, as they say, was that.

* * *

_April 12, 764, third entry_

_Either I'm going nuts or he is. I just saw - no, I FELT - Vejiita show up in the house. I know it doesn't make sense; my robots didn't report anything, and they beep every stinking field mouse and gnat that slinks by, so I know they'd catch that big lug._

_Short lug. Heh heh. Whatever. _

_But whatever he is, I know he can't be here. Only... it FEELS like he is._

_Logging off now. If I don't ever log back in, or something, then Vejiita killed me and whoever reads this (if anyone ever DOES) will know he did it. For all the good it'll do you - peeping tom, reading my journal. Better get Gokuu, honey, because you'll never be able to handle the Prince of Haughty by yourself._

_Bulma out._

* * *

She was just putting away that silly little hand-held computer she typed in all the time when he arrived.

The woman looked up; it was classic predator technique. Vejiita stood in the doorway, watching her, leaning carefully on the doorframe so that the shadows covered nearly everything but his eyes. He wanted her to feel a good dose of fear before it came time to kill her.

He could already feel himself doing it; tearing that lovely flesh right off her bones, being careful to leave her organs intact long enough for her to memorize exactly what she sounded like when she screamed, laughing as he punctured her heart so she would know forever as she died just who had killed her and why - 

Because he was better than she was, that's why. And their stupid little games had finally come to an end. Eyes narrowing, he waited - daring - for her to make the first move.

* * *

Bulma had just put away her Toshiba Personal PC (with Toriyama XP on it, of course) when Vejiita arrived. It was classic deja vu; he stood, shadowed in the doorframe, his eyes visible and not much else, naturally looking very scary - but that wasn't why she shuddered.

She was reminded again, forcefully, that he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen in her life, and a very large part of her being wanted to cry, "it's not FAIR."

Instead, she crossed her arms and glared at him. "Well hello to you too, mister dark and scary," she remarked, crossing her arms and giving him a stern look. "I don't know where YOU'VE been all day, but if you expect me to just drop whatever I'm doing and give you dinner now, then you are SADLY mis...taken." Her voice trailed off; his eyes had narrowed further, and he had yet to speak. Bulma was torn between a sudden urge to run and scream - either into his arms or the hell away from him.

Damnit, she couldn't decide which one.

* * *

The woman had stuttered! Well, almost - close enough for him, anyway. Vejiita felt an unexpected but welcome swell of pride; for the first time in a long time, the woman was showing genuine fear of him. Oh, not when he'd thrown her to the floor, anyone could have gotten a reaction for _that_. This... was fear in the face of HIM - because of him, of who he was, WHAT he was.

Everything was coming together. It was time to strike her down.

He started walking across the kitchen floor.

* * *

The moment he moved, she knew she was in trouble. The moment he stepped into the light - the look on his face, a combination of weird passion, confusion, anger, so MUCH anger -

And then he was in front of her, and casually - so casually - slipped his hand around her throat and began to squeeze.

Bulma's eyes widened. No; no, she couldn't die like THIS - not like this. Please Kami, not like this; there was so much more to DO, so much more to invent, to see, to learn... 

She gripped his wrist helplessly when he began to lift her just a little, hoping in some vague way that she could support her weight and keep from choking to death in his hand; but then, although she did not know why, he simply...stopped.

Vejiita's hand stayed where it was; he did not loosen his grip, but he didn't tighten it, either. And more importantly, he'd stopped lifting. 

His eyes... his eyes were ON her. In her, seeing through her, past her very bones; locked on her face, then traveling downward, and the slight confusion she'd already seen on his face seemed to multiply tenfold - and the anger piggybacked with it. His gaze came back to her face, and he stood unmoving, breathing a little more heavily than he had been, just _looking _at her as though he couldn't understand why whatever was affecting him was doing it the way it was, and that's when she realized his touch had changed yet again.

He was still holding her by the throat; but he was no longer lifting at all. His grip had gone... gentle.

She could have slipped out of it easily, had she been so inclined, but the moment his gaze came back to hers she'd been trapped in it, as surely as if he'd somehow gripped her attention instead of her neck, and she wasn't going anywhere. For an endless cycle of heartbeats and breaths they stood, silent, feeling the body heat grow inexplicably between them and becoming shiveringly aware of his hand on her skin; and then, unbidden, his thumb moved just enough to caress her lips.

* * *

The woman... gasped. Not a gasp of terror, but of unexpected pleasure, and shivered, as though he'd done something far more intimate than he had. She couldn't hide the sudden responding flush in her cheeks, nor did she try - if anything, she arched her head just a little so he could see it more clearly. Her lips were soft; that surprised him. He hadn't been expecting sandpaper, of course, but this...

They were... so soft.

Vejiita stared at her, peering at her skin, her flawless complexion, then down at her body - then up to her eyes; and he stayed there. The blue of her eyes was just perfect; deep, threatening, beautiful like the depths of the ocean and just as dangerous - and Vejiita knew, KNEW, knew the way he'd know he would be super saiyan some day, knew the way he'd know upstairs that he'd reached a crucial decision, KNEW... that if he did not pull back now, he would drown in the blue of her eyes.

Vejiita, prince of the Saiya-jin, did not pull back. Moving as though he were swimming slowly through a dream, he leaned in close - and kissed her.

* * *

It wasn't a kiss; their lips touched, pressure was applied, but it wasn't a kiss. It was _fire._

Passion suddenly exploded between them like a landmine, giving no warning, engulfing all within range in an inescapable heat and glorious blaze. Vejiita and Bulma fell away from the counter, first to the table, then to the floor, and somehow - kami might know, though neither of them remembered - ended up in Bulma's bed, almost all their clothing strewn along the way.

Madness ensued; passion, flame, desire, all those words failed to contain the explosion of power this held. The rest of life inconsequential and their enemies non-existent, they tore through this world and into one of their own creation, one in which they were all, and they were one - pleasure mattered, _together_ mattered, and precious little else. It was a battle like neither of them had ever seen; but as the sun began to rise through the eastern windows and birds, unawares, announced the coming of the morning, both of them finally put their energies to rest with an unspoken understanding that this was merely a lull - not the end of the war.

They slept; they continued in the afternoon. They slept again, showered, ate a little something which neither could recall, and continued on late into the night. And when the second morning came, unaware and uncaring of the date, time, or anything else, they mutually fell apart like petals in a stream, drifting for a while on the current of contentment; and neither of them said a thing.

What was to say? Their ultimate battle had been fought, and both had come away victor. 

Three days and four nights passed this way before either one seemed to recall duties in this world - back in the world they had abandoned - but somehow, not discussing it, they both understood their places. He went back to training, and she resumed work in her lab, just as before - only now, they no longer bothered to stare at one another through the window in the dark.

Talk about it? What was to talk about? To talk would break the spell; would force them to think, to take their own private world down to this one and merge the two, messily, filthily; and so, they did not talk. About this, at least; everything else was up for grabs.

Gokuu came by one more time before the android menace arrived. Not noticing any changes, he ate a lot, and talked, and sparred a bit with Vejiita - infuriating the latter by flipping into super saiyan as easily as turning on a light switch. And Bulma watched; but by the time Gokuu left, she knew what was going to happen.

Somehow in the midst of all the eating together, fighting together, and tangling together, Bulma had found time to build another space ship; and that afternoon, Vejiita stole it and flew away.

Bulma was not upset; she wasn't even terribly worried. She understood - oddly, intuitively - why he'd had to go, and exactly what it was he was doing. He had to find his path to super saiyan on his own, and she had no intention of stopping him. The world they'd created would still be there when he came back.

Although... it would be a little different. Three weeks after Vejiita ran away, Bulma discovered she was pregnant. Unmarried and unprepared for such a scenario, one would think she would naturally have thrown a fit, gone into hysterics, perhaps even gone hunting the one who'd done this to her.

Instead, she just smiled, and waited for him to come home.

* * *

Dende took a long, pleased breath that was more than half sigh, and smiled and Mr. Popo. 

Popo stared. "Wh... but... that wasn't love."

"It was for them."

Dende seemed so sure, so confident of this; Mr. Popo didn't want to abuse him of the notion. His expression, however, gave him away.

"What, you don't believe me?" Dende asked, tilting his head to the side like a curious bird, and Mr. Popo looked guilty.

"I... ah. Ahem. Well, sir, it just seemed to be... ah, things other than love."

Dende smiled broadly. "It was love for them, Mr. Popo. That's why Vejiita accepted the fact that Bulma had had his kid and THEN - injury to insult - had the tail removed. You really think that was easy for him to deal with? But he didn't kill her for it, did he?"

"No, I... I suppose he didn't," Popo said, trying to think about it.

"It's why Bulma forgave him for nearly letting them get killed when everyone was fighting Gero and the androids. You know she knows how to hold a grudge, too," Dende added, waggling a finger in Popo's general direction.

"Well, that IS true," Popo agreed, still looking a little bit wry.

"And why do you think that whole Majin Buu thing went off the way it did, including Vejiita sacrificing his life? Don't tell me you forgot about that!"

"Oh, ah, no, I had not, sir," replied Mr. Popo. "But I'd rather thought that was when he realized he loved his wife and son."

"It was." Dende smiled cheerfully.

"...it was?"

The Namek laughed; it was a gentle laugh, open and free from criticism. "It's when he ACKNOWLEDGED it, Mr. Popo," Dende said, shifting on his pillows. "But he already knew Bulma was _his_, so to speak, just as much as she knew he was hers - although of course, she knew she loved him long before he knew he loved her." Dende grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Did you know that neither one has ever said 'I love you' to the other? They didn't HAVE to, and in the beginning it could have frightened either one of them away, anyway. Isn't that marvelous?"

"Did he... know he loved them when he gave his life against Majin Buu, sir?" Popo asked, still trying to sew all the various pieces together in his head.

"Love? Well; honestly, he'd never use such a word. Did he know they were his? Yes; his in a way that only family is, his in a way that only things treasured are - in a way that only things worth dying for can be. He knew right then that he'd give his life for them over and over again if he had it to give, and he couldn't quite explain why - or rather, he didn't want to. He'd already gone into that battle knowing that they were making him 'weak.' You know. Because... they were making him feel things."

Mr. Popo thought about all this carefully, chewing on it in his slowly pensive way, and then he shared a thought. "I find it odd that Bulma at least hasn't told him she loved him yet," he commented, checking Dende's face for reaction.

"She doesn't have to," Dende said, and grinned. "Besides. Bra says it all the time, and you should SEE the look Vejiita gets on his face when she does it - when nobody else is around, of course." He beamed. "There's more love in that family than in most of the 'normal' families on earth who say those three supposedly magic words; these guys just... don't even need to say them."

Popo considered this further, and Dende stood up. "Well, Mr. Popo," the young kami said. "I've taken enough of both your and my time to do this little experiment; I'm going to go talk to Piccolo now and give him what I've learned. I know he'll be curious about my success."

"Success?" Popo asked distractedly, glancing over the side of the tower toward earth and thinking Never said I love you? What a shame - a crying shame, really.

"To discover what romantic love was, of course," Dende said with a little bounce, and scurried down the walkway to an open meditation room, ideal for telepathic communication. Popo watched him for a moment, and then decided... he had to know.

Keeping track of the earth warriors' activities had its plus side; Popo knew for a fact that Gokuu, Vejiita, Goten, Trunks, and Piccolo had gone on a massive training trip to Mars or something, off in space for at least the past month, working on building up their defenses and becoming even more familiar with one another's moods. He already knew that they had just today returned, and were going home.

Popo knew how the Son family would react to the return of their missing male martyrs; but he did not know how the Briefs would react. Glancing around to avoid detection, Popo sneaked cautiously into the observation room, and searched for the Capsule Corporation living area.

His timing could not have been more perfect.

* * *

_Vejiita arrives, as he always does, with enough fanfare and displays of power to wake the whole neighborhood; but if they aren't used to him by now, they're never going to be, and nobody raises a fuss. All the younger kids are safe at school, after all._

_She is waiting for him in the doorway. Arms crossed, looking stern, she glares as he tracks mud right past her without remorse into the kitchen._

_"A MONTH?" she declares, pausing in her diatribe to give her similarly filthy son a hug before sending him upstairs to take a shower. "Where the hell were you people? You could have said something. But nope, NO one has time to make a LITTLE com call...."_

_"Woman. Shut up," Vejiita replies without ardor, whipping open the fridge door and snatching a beer. American beer; for whatever odd reason, it's Vejiita's favorite, and she has never forgotten to keep it stocked._

_He takes a swig and eyes her, uncapping the thing with his hand and capping it again the same way. His look, now that they are unobserved, has swung into something like bemused, if bemused could be heated._

_"I'm glad you're home," Bulma says briskly, taking the bottle from him and wiping up the bit that fizzed out onto the counter. He watches her for a moment, observing her form, her motion, her life; and he is smiling._

_"It was time," he says with a shrug, and then takes the rag from her hand and throws it away in lieu of offering her something warmer to hold._

_Mutual, unhesitant, they kiss. And filth or no, Bulma wriggles as close to him as she possibly can; more importantly... he lets her._

* * *

Mr. Popo turned off the viewer. Dende had been right; there was love there, the kind that holds firm past all kinds of difficulties and trials, past the strain of arguments, children and time apart, past the world-shattering events of demons and monsters and aliens, oh my. 

In his searching, Dende had been looking for an example of true, romantic love. Mr. Popo had had his doubts; but now after everything, he finally had to agree.

Dende couldn't have possibly found a better love story.

_fine_


End file.
